Gentrification
by Kailin
Summary: For the first time in her life, Hermione fails at something. For the first time in his life, Severus Snape finds that he is actually desirable.
1. Chapter 1

_I just can't seem to leave Severus and Hermione alone. It's a Post-Hogwarts, EWE, of course. Two things I need to say right off the bat:_

 _(a)The characters are_ not _mine. Duh._

 _(b)I owe an eternal debt of gratitude to Toodleoo, Beta and Brit-Picker Extraordinaire_

 **Gentrification:**

\- **The process of renovating and improving a house or district so that it conforms to middle-class taste**

\- **The process of making a person or activity more refined or polite**

 ** _Chapter 1_**

The war was over.

Once the funerals were over and the injured were being well cared for at St. Mungo's, once the rebuilding had begun at Hogwarts, I headed straight for Australia to find my parents. Harry joined me for the trip, eager to escape the oppressive attention of going from the Chosen One to the Boy Who Conquered. Ron would have come along, but deserting his family again so soon after Fred's death was out of the question. So Harry and I set off, relishing every second of our newfound freedom from mortal peril. It was disconcerting, to be honest; we were both more than a little twitchy still.

My parents were not so easily found, as it turned out. And once I had located them, they were not at all pleased that I had gone to such lengths to protect them the past year. There were tears and more than a little shouting on all our parts. Most hurtful was the way they looked at me. Now that Monica and Wendell Wilkins were once again Jean and Tom Granger, they recognized me and yet didn't. It was almost as if I had become a stranger to them a second time, the wizarding world having turned me into someone who played fast and loose with people's very lives, and damn the consequences.

Harry and I flew back to England while my parents tried to decide what to do now that their existence was upended once more. I cried for most of the plane trip home. At least the prospect of home brought me some comfort: there was Seventh Year to look forward to, as well as my fledgling relationship with Ron. With Voldemort dead and gone, I would be able to throw myself into my coursework with gusto, as well as enjoy the perks of having a real boyfriend for the first time in my life.

Imagine my shock and disappointment when I discovered that Harry and Ron would not be rejoining me.

"They're not giving you real N.E.W.T.'s," I argued. "They're honorary. It's like—like cheating."

But my two dearest friends merely looked at me as though I had scrambled eggs for brains. It was fine for me to go back to the grind of school if I wanted to, but they were headed straight into Auror training.

"It'll be okay," Ron had whispered, taking me into his arms at King's Cross on September first. "When we do get to see each other, it'll be special. Absence makes the heart grow longer, and all that."

"Fonder," I corrected, gritting my teeth.

Seventh Year finally went by. My parents chose not to return to Britain, and any communication with them was both sporadic and tense. I collected an impressive number of N.E.W.T.'s—over which I sweated bullets, although no one seemed to take my anxiety seriously—and applied at the Ministry. By the time I moved into Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron, I had five job offers to choose from. There wasn't a major department that wouldn't have been pleased to have me, but I was slightly worried. It smelled largely of wanting me for my war hero status.

"You're barmy," Ron told me flatly. "D'you think anybody else leaves Hogwarts and gets their pick of plum jobs like that?"

"You don't understand, Ronald. I want to do a real job and make a difference in the wizarding world. Do you think we fought Voldemort just so I could become some department head's trophy hire?"

In the end, I decided to go to work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I was going to make life better for any downtrodden, oppressed being in Britain. It was only a matter of time.

Little did I know how wrong I was.

…..

 _"_ _Why does a supposedly enlightened society continue to treat magical creatures as_

 _substandard citizens? Did we somehow forget that a world united against evil is an_

 _example of our best selves? House-Elves remain victims in many instances. Centaurs_

 _have no desire to come into closer fellowship with humans, and given how they have_

 _been treated by us over the years, can anyone fail to see why? Werewolves are still_

 _relegated to the fringes of society, even when Wolfsbane is readily available to all…"_

I finished reading over the rest of my letter (entitled 'Why I Speak Up in Outrage') and smiled in smug satisfaction. All points were covered: the injustices which continued to this day, the indifference of most of the wizarding community, and the sluggish response of the Ministry itself. It was nothing less than a mandate for change, I thought proudly. It might _finally_ shake things up. I picked up my quill and signed the letter with a flourish.

Three years at the Ministry, four since war's end. Despite my best efforts at work, nothing had changed. I'd lobbied long and hard with nothing to show for it. I had written no fewer than fifteen proposals for change, sending them to my boss, Merle Swinely-Ross, and even to the Minister himself. I often had the distinct impression that my superior wanted to pat me on the head and tell me to go sit quietly like a good girl. Even Kingsley, as honest and upright as any Minister for Magic had ever been, had reminded me time and time again to be patient, that it was impossible to mandate the kind of sweeping overhaul I so wanted to see.

Tomorrow I would send the letter off to the editor at the _Daily Prophet_ , but first I wanted second opinions. I left the library at Number Twelve and went in search of Harry and Ron.

After leaving Hogwarts, I'd moved in with Harry and Ron, and we still inhabited our little corners of the old Black family mansion. For Harry, it was home. Ginny Weasley shared his living space when she wasn't off playing for the Holyhead Harpies, much to her mother's chagrin. Molly frequently dropped blatant hints about how _lovely_ it would be when Harry and Ginny actually got married. Meanwhile, Ginny was in no hurry to end her Quidditch career, and Harry knew better than to try to encourage that train of thought.

Ron and I shared a room…usually. He had made the oblique reference to marriage now and then, but he was in no hurry either. In fact, we had broken up twice in the past, only to get back together again. Harry and Ginny seemed wonderfully happy. Ron and I were certainly happy. Most days. I supposed it was best to work out the bugs now, so that when we presumably tied the knot someday, things would run smoothly.

Truth was, I didn't see the boys all that often. They were official Aurors now, but as the new kids, tended to draw weird shifts and crummy assignments. My schedule was the steady one: nine to five, every day. But on this Saturday night, we were all at home. I found the boys in the kitchen, wireless playing in the background as they tried to put together a homemade pizza. From the look of the strange assortment of toppings they'd laid out, I wasn't sure I wanted any part of it.

"Here," I said, waving the letter at the two of them. "Tell me what you think. I'm sending it to the editor at the _Prophet_ tomorrow."

Ron took the parchment and began to scan the page; Harry leaned in to read along, not wanting to touch it with his flour-covered hands.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said when he'd finished, "you don't hold things back, do you?"

"Why should I?" I said indignantly. "I've worked long and hard for three years, and where has it gotten us? Nowhere, that's where. I'm tired of playing nice. I have to do _something_."

"You've done loads of stuff," he reminded me. "You researched what other countries do in regards to magical creatures, you sent all those proposals to your boss, you even convinced Kingsley to hold a Magical Creature Appreciation Day last year."

"But mostly I've only pushed parchment," I grumbled.

"Hermione…" Harry looked up from the letter, brows knit in concern. "Do you think maybe you've come on a little too strong?"

"No."

"But you signed it."

"Of course."

"As Hermione Granger, from the Department of Magical Creatures. Won't you get in trouble for that?"

I waved his objection aside.

"You have to get people's attention, Harry. Nothing else has worked. This will. You'll see." I didn't mention to him that I'd even thought of personally picketing the Ministry, which sounded wonderfully dramatic until I remembered that I couldn't march for a wizarding cause in the Muggle world.

Harry shrugged and left it at that. I folded the letter and put it in my pocket. The following day, I sent it to the _Daily Prophet_ via owl post.

On Monday morning, I was ready to walk out the door for work when an owl arrived with an ominous red envelope in its beak. Ron, bleary-eyed after pulling a night shift, retrieved it. He took one look it and handed it to me, a look of impending doom on his face.

I swallowed and opened the letter. My boss's voice filled the front hall of Number Twelve at ear-splitting volume.

 ** _"_** ** _HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER, THIS IS TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU ARE HEREBY SUSPENDED FOR TWO WEEKS' TIME. I SUGGEST THAT YOU USE THE TIME TO SEARCH FOR EMPLOYMENT ELSEWHERE! SINCERELY YOURS, MERLE SWINELY-ROSS."_**

I dropped the Howler as if it were a hot potato. It shredded itself into pieces; Ron silently Evanesco'd the remains with a flick of his wand.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "They're giving you the boot."

Harry came hurtling down the stairs half-dressed, one side of his face still unshaven.

"What was _that_?"

"Howler," Ron told him. "Hermione's been canned, from the looks of it."

Harry stared at me, stricken. And I remembered his caution about possible ramifications of my letter.

"But you're going to fight it, right, Hermione?" Ron put in confidently.

I looked at the two people dearest to me in the entire world, hot tears pricking my eyes. Fight it? Go marching into Swinely-Ross's office breathing great gusts of fire? Right now, my only, overwhelming thought was that for the first time in my life, I had failed at something.

"I—I—"

Before I could come up with a coherent reply, a silvery Patronus in the form of a lynx materialized. Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice sounded, almost a whisper compared to the volume of the Howler.

" _Hermione, could you see me in my office at your earliest opportunity, please?"_

I swallowed. Hard. My friends regarded me with outright sympathy.

"Guess you should get going, then," Harry said drily.

Thirty minutes later, I sat in front of the Minister for Magic, numbly wondering what fate awaited me. Kingsley, although he looked somber, didn't appear ready to wring my neck; it was small consolation. Needless to say, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ sat on the desk in front of him.

"Hermione," he began, "do you know why I asked you here?"

"Because of the letter I wrote," I said, nodding toward the newspaper.

Kingsley rested his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands, his dark eyes boring into mine.

"Is it safe to assume that you realize that you represent the Ministry even when you are not physically within the confines of this building?"

"Yes, sir."

"And that in writing this letter and having it published in the _Prophet_ , you appear to be contradicting some official Ministry policies with your list of indictments?"

"Yes, sir."

"And that for all the fractious human beings in this building, we generally manage to work toward the same goal of trying to improve life for the wizarding populace of Britain?"

"Yes, sir." I was beginning to feel very small.

"Then why did you do it, Hermione?" Shacklebolt leaned back in his large chair. His voice was unexpectedly gentle. "Why put your name to it? Why not just submit the letter anonymously?"

"I was frustrated," I said, a traitorous lump forming in my throat. "I suppose I was absolutely at my wit's end. Nothing's changed. Nothing ever will change. Nobody cares about the issues."

"That's where you're wrong. Things will change, people do care. But you can't force it. Trying to force change and make the world run the way you want it to sounds rather like the uprising we managed to quell four years ago, doesn't it?" He waved an appeasing hand when I opened my mouth to object. "Oh, I know, you'd never dream of Dark Magic and the like, but do you take my point?"

I had no choice. I nodded.

"So, where does that leave us? Has Swinely-Ross spoken to you this morning?"

"If by speaking to me, you mean a Howler that could have been heard all the way across the Channel, yes. He suspended for two weeks and advised me to look for work somewhere else. Basically, I don't think he wants to lay eyes on me again."

There was a brief silence while Shacklebolt considered this. "I don't generally intercede in the decisions my department heads make, but if I were to talk to Merle and ask him to give you another chance…? Provided you're willing to amend your behavior, of course."

Go back to my old job? Have my colleagues laughing behind my back, not to mention Merle Swinely-Ross watching me like a bug under a microscope? I frowned. Now that the shock of being fired had begun to subside, I realized that perhaps Fate had done me a favor. This could be an opportunity in disguise.

Maybe.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I think I'd be ready to try something else, but I don't know what it would be. I never really considered it. I just wanted to help make things better."

For the first time, Kingsley Shacklebolt smiled. "Tell me, Hermione, would you be willing to relocate?"

…..

Dinner that night was at our favorite Italian restaurant.

"Cokeworth? Really?"

Harry and Ron both said the same thing, but with very different reactions. Ron, speaking through a chunk of breadstick in his mouth, sounded revolted. Harry, on the other hand, was delighted.

"My mum was from there. And Petunia, of course, although that's not much of a recommendation. And Snape, too. I guess there must be a fairly sizeable wizarding community in the area."

"Sizeable enough," I said, brandishing my fork with a bit of _salata_ speared on it. "That's why a Regional Office was headquartered there."

When the immediate post-war reconstruction efforts had subsided and life in wizarding Britain returned to something akin to normal, Kingsley Shacklebolt began to enact some of his designs for the future. He wanted to decentralize some Ministry functions, to bring them closer to the people they served and hopefully establish a bit more in the way of good will in the process. As a result, Regional Ministry Offices were born. Each site offered an Ombudsman to liaise with the locals, a mediwizard to save citizens the bother of going all the way to St. Mungo's for minor ailments, and an Auror to deal with trifling offenses in the area. The project seemed to be working well enough, from things I'd heard over the past several years.

"You're going to be an Ombudsman?" Ron asked, narrowly pronouncing the word correctly.

"Yes, although I'm technically known as a Ministry Representative. I'm there to deal with any concerns the public might have. Deal with their problems, get them assistance quicker than they might receive coming all the way to London and trying to handle it themselves."

"So you'll still be helping people and making a difference, even if it's not House-Elves or other creatures," Harry pointed out.

"True. I think it could be very exciting." It was only ten hours since my visit to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, but I was already fully invested in this new opportunity. Not to mention grateful to remain employed.

"I don't know why you can't continue to live here, though," Ron argued. "All you have to do is Floo there every day, or Apparate. Cokeworth's just a run-down old mill town, isn't it? Who wants to live there?"

"We're supposed to be seen as part of the community, Ron," I said, dismissing his objection out of hand. "Besides, I can always spend weekends back here. Most of them, anyway."

"Guess we'll be batching it, Harry. You want to invite the dancing girls, or shall I?"

Harry snorted. "Don't look at me. The Quidditch League is on hiatus for a couple of weeks, so Ginny'll be home. I think the new job sounds brilliant, Hermione. We'll miss you, but I suspect we'll survive."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2_**

 _"_ _Dear Harry and Ron (and Ginny, if you're there at Number Twelve),_

 _I've finished my first week on the new job and lived to tell about it!_

 _The Regional Ministry Offices here are certainly less impressive than the Ministry in London. We're housed in part of what used to be a small shopping district in an abandoned storefront. It's rather reminiscent of St. Mungo's, actually, but without the ugly female dummy in the window. Beyond the receptionist's space, one side of the suite holds two small offices and a break room. The Walk-In Clinic takes up all of the other side. Needless to say, it's not what you would call fashionable digs. No soaring atrium or fountains here!_

 _My co-workers are pleasant enough. Sondra Foster is our receptionist, barely seventeen and only on the job for a month herself. She's sweet, but as ditzy as they come. Her mother nixed any plans for her to attend Hogwarts when you made it known that V. was back at the end of fourth year, and educated her at home. Which may be why Sondra only managed two O.W.L.'s and two N.E.W.T.s. (I saw her personnel record). Unfortunately, she's a bit in awe of me, which is rather annoying._

 _So is Clare Stringfellow, the semi-retired Auror who's based here. Do you know her? I suspect that she may have been good at her job back in the day, but her biggest claim to fame (from what she told me) was processing the Death Eaters from Voldemort War One before they were sent to Azkaban. I think she felt she had to impress me, bless her heart. It appears that being semi-retired in a Regional Office is probably the best situation for her._

 _On the other hand, Dex Davies, the mediwizard assigned here, doesn't appear impressed by me in the least (thank goodness!). He's older, tough as nails, and a self-described Adrenaline Junkie (that's a Muggle term for someone who loves risk-taking, Ron). Besides working at the walk-in clinic here in the building, he works some weekends doing First Aid at Quidditch matches. I suspect Ginny probably knows him._

 _If the people here heard about my fall from grace in Magical Creatures, they've not mentioned it. Hopefully I can make a fresh start without drawing attention to myself! There are only two families in my service area who have House-Elves in residence, so hopefully my notoriety will go unnoticed. I certainly don't plan to call on them, tempted as I might be._

 _I think I've found a place to live, at least temporarily. Cokeworth is definitely a town of two faces. It has the aura of a place that's fallen on hard times, but there are still nice areas around (which brings to mind your Mum, Harry). There's a large movement here of people buying the run-down homes and spiffing them up – gentrification, I believe it's called. Clare refers to them as urban pioneers trying to take back the bad neighborhoods. In fact, she has a nephew who's doing just that. He's a Squib, poor guy, who works as a Muggle builder, and he's been hard at work on his own place for a while. But he's leaving in a few days, going to work on a construction project in Devonshire for three months, so he'll be out of his house here and is looking for a renter to house-sit for that time. I'm going to see the place tomorrow, so I may pop back to London afterwards and tell you all about it._

 _As for my actual job, it's been rather undramatic so far. Sondra screens visitors and directs them to either Clare, Dex, or myself based on their needs. I've taken care of one woman who wants to sue Ollivander's for selling her a supposedly defective wand, another who has questions about her property taxes, and a nice older gentleman who needed help finding his lost dog, of all things. I was able to refer the two women to the correct Intake Reps in the proper departments at the Ministry and spare them a whole lot of red tape. As for the man with the lost dog, I had him come back with one of the dog's toys and used the dried saliva as the basis for a variation of the Point-Me charm. Needless to say, I could hardly use_ Accio _on the poor animal, not to mention the problems that would result if Muggles saw a dog flying through the air. Anyway, I found the dog and reunited him with his very happy owner. There were others, as well, but no one with what you might call earth-shaking problems._

 _I know what you're thinking, that this work doesn't sound like something I should be wasting my time on. To some extent, that's true, but my co-workers tell me that the week was unusually slow all around._

 _I'll close for now and hopefully see you in person tomorrow to tell you about the house I may be renting._

 _All my love,_

 _Hermione"_

 _…_ _.._

I found the place easily enough.

The street was called Spinner's End, and the house was the second from the corner. The neighborhood, as Clare had warned me, was certainly was depressed, but there were bright spots everywhere. Nearly a third of the row houses were in the process of being rehabbed, some nearer completion than others from the look of it. Others sat vacant. The sounds of hammering and sawing were definitely in the air. At the end of one block, a sign in a store window announced, COMING SOON: COFFEE CARTEL. And although I did spot a small group of less-than-savory looking teens loitering about, there were also perfectly normal-looking people walking their dogs and chatting with neighbors. I stepped up to the door of Number Three and knocked.

"Hello!" A burly young man with sandy blond hair flung the door open. "Hermione?"

"Yes. And you must be Gavin Stringfellow."

"The same." He pumped my hand vigorously, nearly crushing it. "Please come in and have a look 'round, won't you?"

"Thank you." I stepped inside, resisting the urge to rub some feeling back into what remained of my hand.

"How are you liking Cokeworth, then? You were in London, Aunt Clare said. Quite a difference between here and there, eh?" Gavin shoved his own hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

"Quite, although it's easy enough to pop back to London if need be."

A strained smile crossed his face, and I remembered too late that Gavin Stringfellow was a Squib. Popping back and forth to London was a skill unavailable to him.

"So this is your house," I said, looking all around the place in an attempt to divert the conversation from his lack of magical ability.

"It is." A note of pride crept into Gavin's voice. "Bought it two years ago. Dreadful wreck, it was. Some of the floorboards rotted clear away, plumbing gone in the kitchen… Here, let me give you the tour, although I must warn you that it won't take long. It's just a two-up, two-down, after all."

"It looks like brand new," I commented, gazing around the sitting room. "It smelly freshly painted. Pretty little fireplace..."

"Finished up the plasterboard and painting in here a week ago," Gavin said, looking pleased with himself. "The fireplace, by the way, hasn't been cleaned yet, so I don't think you'll want to attempt a fire."

I smiled at him. "Being as it's almost July, I don't think I'll be wanting one anyway."

"That's all right, then. Furniture's kind of— I dunno—basic." Gavin grinned sheepishly, waving a hand toward the very mismatched and worn furniture in the room. "Bachelor pad and all. Sorry."

The furniture had indeed seen better days. There was a lumpy green couch, a director's chair, and a wooden crate doubling as a coffee table. Still, it didn't matter; I'd only be renting for three months. "Not to worry. I lived with two single guys in London. I'm accustomed to the lived-in look."

"Your friends, right? Harry Potter and the other one? The ginger?"

I nodded. Poor Ron; he really was always consigned to being Harry's ginger friend. He'd finally made peace with it, for the most part.

"Aunt Clare told me all about the war. About Harry and you, and all the things you did."

I wasn't about to allow Gavin a stab at hero worship. "We did what we had to in order to fight and survive," I said flatly.

"Sure. Wish I could have done something, though. Fight like you all did. Aunt Clare was pretty terrified of Voldemort, even with her being an Auror and all."

"Believe me, you were better off out of it." In the corner of the room, I spotted three guitars and some amplifiers. "Are you a musician?"

"Sort of. I dabble. Play with some friends on occasion. That's why I really wanted someone to watch the place while I'm away. I've got a lot of money sunk into all my gear."

"I'm sure." I moved toward what was obviously the kitchen, Gavin trailing behind. "Oh, this is nice."

The kitchen had fresh white cabinets on one wall; there was a relatively new stove and refrigerator in place, along with a microwave—"A man can't live without a microwave," Gavin joked—and a small table for two.

"The usual scrap of a yard out the back," he pointed out. "I've got a grill out there, and you're welcome to use it. I grill a lot in good weather; it's a change from the microwave, you know."

I stepped outside and looked around the space.

"Is that storage?" I asked, pointing to what seemed to be a shed.

Gavin took one look at me and burst out laughing. "You've not spent much time in neighborhoods like this, have you, Hermione? It's the loo."

I stared at him in horror. "It's—I have to— "

"Is that a problem?" he asked, all innocence.

Words failed me.

"The original loo," Gavin amended, eyes twinkling at the expression on my face. "Not to worry. Any of these places that have been fixed up have all the modern conveniences. I divvied up the second bedroom and put in a regular bath. You'll see it when we go upstairs."

"So… people aren't still using these, are they?"

"Could be, but not likely. Forget what they say about the good old days; they weren't so good for everybody."

I thought about Harry's mum and her parents. Had the Evanses lived nearby? Surely they had an indoor loo. If not, perhaps that accounted for some of his Aunt Petunia's dour disposition.

"Let me show you upstairs," Gavin offered. "I'm afraid that while the new loo is functional, it's not completely done. Haven't finished painting and tiling and that sort of thing. Actually, there's not even a door on it. And as for the bedroom, I haven't touched that at all yet."

I turned to go, when something caught my eye: the faintest shimmer of something above the wall separating the yard of Number Three from that of Number One. Was that a ward? Here? I walked over to the wall and tentatively waved a hand over it; immediately, I felt my hand being pushed back toward me. But Gavin was a Squib, so how…?

"Gavin…"

"Yeah?" He'd been about to go back inside, and now paused in the doorway.

"I feel some sort of magical barrier here, like a fence. Did your aunt put that up for some reason?"

"Don't know anything about that. I can't feel magic, you know."

I'd reminded him of his Squib status again; I sighed and followed him into the kitchen.

"Look, I'm really sorry. I don't mean to keep reminding you of things you can't do," I said.

"It's okay, Hermione. I've been around witches and wizards all my life and nobody gives it a second thought." Gavin shrugged it off. "I'm used to it. I think it probably bothers you more than it bothers me. Any anyway, I've got a lovely Muggle girlfriend, so that means I don't have to explain anything to her about magic. I'd rather have her than any silly wand right now."

I smiled. "She sounds like a lucky girl. What's her name?"

"Brenda. I'm thinking I might ask her to marry me when I get back from the Devonshire job."

Gavin led me upstairs. The sight of a fully functioning indoor toilet was a joy after contemplating how residents used to cope. And while the room was clearly unfinished, the toilet flushed, the sink and shower worked, and that was all that counted.

"The front bedroom," Gavin announced, leading me into the largest room on the first floor. I haven't had a chance to finish the walls in here. A few breezes might get through, but it should be comfortable enough for you this time of year. There's no closet yet, I'm afraid."

He indicated a clothes rack on wheels, standing in front of the window. I rolled it away from the window to peer outside.

"Sorry," he put in guiltily. "I don't have drapes up. I used to have a blanket nailed over the window in the winter, but it fell down and I never put it back up again. I just push the clothes rack in front of it for privacy."

"No problem." A few seconds of wandwork would take care of that, I thought. And then as I glanced down to the street, I noticed the girl.

She looked to be a teen, and was walking slowly—almost too slowly for a normal passage down the sidewalk—and trying to study the house next door without being obvious about it.

"What's she doing?" I wondered aloud. Gavin came to peer over my shoulder.

"It's the oddest thing," he said. "I've noticed it for a week or so now, a couple of girls doing the same thing. They just walk back and forth for a while as if they were hoping someone would open the front door of Number One and talk to them."

"What's the attraction?"

"No idea."

"Is the house occupied?"

"Yeah. At least, I think so. Most of the time it seems like it's vacant, but lately I've noticed some lights on."

"Strange."

And while we continued to watch out the window, the girl disappeared around the corner—only to reappear moments later, walking back the other direction, but across the street. And again, she was surreptitiously studying Number One.

"So," Gavin said, breaking into my thoughts, "what do you think, Hermione? Think you'll want to rent the place? I hate leaving it vacant if I'm gone for three months. The neighborhood's a lot better than it used to be, but I don't want some punk breaking in and stealing my guitars and my sound stuff."

"I'll be happy to rent it, Gavin. It's perfect until I find a more permanent residence."

We settled on a ridiculously low figure for rent.

"You don't need to sign a lease or anything," Gavin assured me. "In fact, you could just give Aunt Clare a check each month. She'll see that it gets into my account."

We shook hands on the deal. This would work well, I thought. The three months would give me time to look around Cokeworth and find a nice place to live once Gavin reclaimed his home at the end of September.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3_**

Gavin left for the Devonshire job on Sunday morning and I Apparated to London to collect the bulk of my things. Harry and Ron were both on weekend duty, so I left a note for them, shrank my belongings and dumped them into my beaded bead, and headed back north.

It appeared that Gavin had made a basic attempt at cleaning the place before leaving, so I spiffed it up a bit more with my wand and called it done. A trip to the grocery was next, and I stocked the larder. When I lived at Number Twelve, any of us who were available ended up cooking—or calling for takeout—and I knew I would miss having my friends about for that reason alone, if nothing else. I was sure that Molly Weasley would insist I join the family for an occasional meal, and along with my rudimentary cooking skills and Gavin's much-loved microwave, I wouldn't starve. I was upstairs putting my clothing away when there was a knock at the door.

I found my friends standing there with big grins on their faces.

"Harry! Ron! Don't tell me you didn't trust me to move in by myself. Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Harry shot me an exasperated look as he strolled inside. "We _were_ at work. It's six p.m., you know."

"What? Already?" I glanced at my watch, unwilling to believe that so much of the day had flown by.

"We couldn't pass up the chance to check out the place. This isn't half bad, Hermione," Ron told me, turning in place to examine my new digs.

"This is fine, but wait until you see the upstairs, though. It's not nearly as finished as it is down here."

"Neighborhood looked okay," Harry commented. "No worse than Grimmauld Place, really."

"I know," I agreed. "And at least living here for a while will give me a chance to look around and decide exactly where I want to settle. Let me show you around, shall I?"

"So Gavin's a musician, huh?" Harry spotted all the guitars and amplifiers.

"Yeah. That's why he wanted someone staying here to watch the place."

I pointed out all the work Gavin had done in the sitting room, then led the way into the kitchen.

"Pretty small," Ron pointed out. "But then, for a fabulous cook like you, Hermione, it's no problem at all."

I punched him playfully in the arm.

"Very funny, Ronald. I'm quite sure I'll make do."

"Hermione…" Harry was standing at the sink, looking out of the window. "There's a girl in your back yard."

"What?"

"A girl. Trying to scale your fence into the next yard."

We stared. There was indeed a teenaged girl, boosted up by her forearms on top of the wall overlooking Number One's yard.

"What in the world," I muttered. "Another one?"

"You mean this isn't the first time?" Ron ventured, perplexed.

"No—well —I'll explain in a minute." I threw open the door. "Excuse me! What do you think you're doing?"

The girl, a blonde with a short ponytail and cut-off jeans, eased back down from the wall at once.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I didn't know anyone was home here."

"Well, we are. What do you want? If you're trying to climb over, it won't work." I hoped she didn't ask why; I was too tired to come up with some Muggle-worthy excuse about wards and why she couldn't climb over the wall.

"I know. I tried before."

"But why? What do you want?"

"I just wanted to see him," the girl said, then turned and fled out of the yard and down the alley.

"See who?" I blurted to the empty air.

"Well, _that_ was bizarre," Ron said in a burst of understatement.

"Hermione, what did you mean when you said this wasn't the first time?" Harry wanted to know.

He was wearing his Official Serious Auror I'm-Here-To-Investigate face. I sighed.

"When I first came to see the house, I saw a girl on the street, just sort of walking up and down in front of the house, looking like she was studying it but trying not to."

"A girl? A teenager, like this one?"

"Yeah."

"Did you ask her what she was doing?"

"I saw her from upstairs, Harry. By the time I left the house that day, no one was there to ask. Gavin said he's seen several girls doing the same thing."

"Huhn." Ron frowned. "Maybe the house belongs to a famous Muggle rock star or something, and they're trying to catch a glimpse of him."

"Here?" Harry and I chorused, glancing from Ron to less-than-imposing Number One and back again.

"Well, probably not," he muttered. "That would be a bit of a stretch, wouldn't it?"

"Right," I said. "A famous star lives in a run-down house in Cokeworth right next door to me."

We all stared at the house and the fence and began laughing.

"You know," Harry said finally, "it's probably just some local girls mooning after a boy who lives here. I don't think they mean any harm. At least, this one didn't look like some hardened street punk you'd suspect of casing the house to plan a burglary or something."

"Neither did the other one I saw," I admitted. "I'm sure you're right."

I showed the boys the outdoor loo and they made the appropriate comments about how disgusting that was and threw in some toilet-related jokes for good measure. And then, of course, Ron's first inquiry was about nice restaurants nearby. Always, his mind on food.

Some things never changed.

….

I arrived for my second week at work bright-eyed and raring to go. During the night, I'd had a brainstorm: rather than wait for witches and wizards in my service area to show up at the door of our tiny office with their problems, why not host a Monthly Forum? I pictured the free flow of questions and answers, with the wizarding populace going away satisfied that the Ministry had their best interests at heart. Still, the fact that I'd been an inch away from being jobless dictated that I proceed with caution. I intended to owl Kingsley first off to see what he thought about it.

When I walked in the front door, however, I found Sondra Foster slumped in her desk chair, chomping on a wad of gum and reading a teen magazine. Not the impression I wanted to give our visitors.

"Sondra," I glanced briefly down the hall to ensure that neither Dex nor Clare were close enough to overhear my reprimand, "I'd prefer it if you limited gum to your coffee break or lunch. And save the magazine for then, too."

The girl pulled a brief face, but rallied and apologized. "Sorry, Hermione." She picked up the trash basket beneath her desk and spit the gum into it with a loud _PTHH_.

I managed a polite smile, grateful that three years of living with Harry and Ron had inured me to the occasional boorish behavior.

"Thank you," I said. I turned to walk down the hall to my office, but thought better of it and stopped in mid-stride. "Actually, why don't I put the magazine in the break room for you?"

"Sure." Sondra looked more than a little sulky this time, but handed the magazine over anyway.

"Thanks," I said again, and headed for my office.

 _TeenWitch Times._ If I'd seen one copy floating around the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, I'd seen a million of them. They were the preferred reading for Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, of course. Just the sight of the magazine brought back all those days when I'd tossed it aside in favor of decent reading material, while my dorm mates looked at me as though I had grown three more heads. I barely glanced at the cover now, already knowing exactly what I'd find: articles on how to impress boys, the latest summer styles, the must-have makeup tips.

I froze in my tracks. There on the cover, beneath the usual banners: _!SEVERUS SNAPE, ROMANTIC DREAMBOAT! p.12_

What?!

I hurried into my office, glancing around for Dex or Clare again, more concerned this time that they didn't see _me_ with the magazine in my hot little hands and get the wrong impression. I shut the door behind me, threw my belongings into a chair, and opened the silly rag to page twelve.

 _"_ _Although his past may be questionable, there is no doubt that Severus Snape is one sexy chick magnet! Talk about a romantic hero! Not your typical hunk, the dark, brooding former Headmaster of Hogwarts is not just a pretty face. He's smart, funny—"_

Funny?

"— _and a very powerful wizard to boot! If you had the pleasure of sitting in his classroom, you would surely have found it hard to concentrate. Those dark, bottomless pools that were his eyes, the sensuous curve of his lips… Of course, we now know the reasons for the forbidding demeanor of those days. Don't we all want that? A man, so devoted to his first love, that he will sacrifice himself for her memory?"_

I groaned aloud. After the war, when it became clear that Severus Snape would survive his wounds, Harry had downplayed the aspect of Snape's undying love for Lily Potter out of newfound respect for the man. Snape himself had given no interviews after the war, other than the requisite hearing before the Wizengamot once he was physically able. As far as all were concerned, Professor Severus Snape was simply a war hero, the man who'd protected Harry Potter and enabled the side of the good to triumph.

Was Snape aware of this article? If so, he was surely ready to cast a number of Avada Kedavras just now. I knew Professor Snape had returned to Hogwarts to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, going from Wizarding Pariah to Esteemed Teacher in short order. I'd heard that everybody wanted to take DADA now, even the ones who didn't care about N.E.W.T. levels in the subject; according to Minerva McGonagall, his was easily the most popular class in the school. The Board of Governors must be having fits over this article, I thought. The last thing they would want was for a teacher to be publicized as a sex object. Perhaps the craziness would die down before September rolled around. Certainly the next issue of the magazine would move on to the usual, predictable topics.

I continued to read. The article was full of juvenile prose and effusive praise. There were pictures, also: the official Hogwarts photograph of Snape, along with several candid shots obviously taken without the Professor's permission. Yes, he must be absolutely fuming.

I was composing an urgent letter to Harry with the words 'Get the latest edition of _TeenWitch Times_ NOW!' when Sondra came knocking at my door. Her cheeks were flaming red, her eyes wide. I hastily shoved the magazine under a pile of parchment.

"Excuse me, Hermione, but you have a visitor. Professor Severus Snape wants to speak with the person in charge."

My first thought, so help me, was to protest that the magazine debacle wasn't my fault. I bit back the words of self-defense that had sprung to mind and reminded myself that I was a Ministry official, not a recalcitrant student.

"Send him in, Sondra." I rose from behind my desk and came around to greet Snape as he came through the door.

The man walked in, a glare on his face. Not an unfamiliar sight, actually. When he recognized me, the glare changed to a look of surprise.

"Professor Snape. It's good to see you." I stuck my hand out, determined to hold it there until he either shook it or batted it away.

Snape glanced down at my hand, then back at me before finally giving it a perfunctory shake.

"Miss Granger. You are working here?"

"It's only my second week, actually. Please sit down." I indicated a chair and returned to my own seat. "How are you, Professor?"

"Well, thank you. And you?"

"Quite well." There was a brief pause as Snape evidently decided that he had exhausted his repertoire of polite chatter for the year. I pressed on.

"What can I do for you?"

"I wish to report some incidents at my home," he said stiffly.

"Of a criminal nature? Let me call Clare in, she's the local Auror."

"Not criminal. Petty annoyances."

"What sort of annoyances?" I grabbed a quill and parchment, ready to jot down a report.

And made the very foolish mistake of looking at Severus Snape as the magazine article had described him. Dark, bottomless pools for eyes? Well, not bottomless, maybe. But compelling. Definitely compelling. And the sensuous curve of his lips? Normally, I remembered them as being set in a perpetual sneer, but now that I looked closer, they did look very… tempting, in a way. Plus, he was no longer buttoned up from stem to stern in archaic black dress. True, he still wore black slacks, but the gray tee shirt and tailored black jacket were definitely a change.

Holy cow, I thought, the article was on to something. Severus Snape was, indeed, _hot._ I beat back the notion and nodded encouragingly for him to continue.

"For the past week or more, there have been a number of people loitering near my house. Trying to peer in the windows. Sending me quite explicit mail."

Renegade Death Eaters. I don't know what brought that to mind, but I could picture it all too clearly. I knew there were Death Eaters that had fled the country when the war ended; both Harry's and Ron's work cubicles were papered with at least a dozen wanted posters of men and women who might take Severus Snape's famed position as spy for the Order rather poorly and come seeking revenge.

"Are any of the notes signed? Do you think they might be from former Voldemort supporters?"

Snape stared at me, flummoxed.

"Not unless he had a cohort of teenaged girls in the ranks."

Teenaged girls?

And then, light dawned.

"Where exactly is your house located, Professor?" I asked faintly.

"Number One, Spinner's End."

I sat back in my desk chair, choking back a burble of laughter.

"Oh, my. As it turns out, we're neighbors. I've only just moved into Number Three. I'm renting the house for three months. The owner is our Auror's nephew."

Snape blinked at the revelation. "I didn't realize there was a wizard living next door."

"There is _now_. Gavin Stringfellow is a Squib."

"And just what might that have to do with my problem, Miss Granger?"

"I've seen the teenage girls you describe. One was in my yard just last night, trying to peer over the fence. Apparently she just wanted to get a look at you. But the notes… they're not threatening, then?"

"Only if you consider describing the many ways in which they wish to ravage my body as threatening."

I did laugh then. I couldn't help myself.

"I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, just at the situation."

"Would you like someone sending you suggestive notes, Miss Granger?" The man arched an annoyed eyebrow at me.

"No, not at all. I'm sure this will settle down when the next issue comes out, though."

"What are you talking about? Next issue of what?"

Damn. He didn't know, and I really didn't want to be the one to break the news. Reluctantly, I pulled the copy of _TeenWitch Times_ out from underneath the parchments and slid it across the desk. "I confiscated this from my receptionist not fifteen minutes ago."

Snape took the magazine and stared at the cover, a look of growing horror on his face.

"What idiotic nonsense is this?" he spluttered.

"The latest edition of the magazine. I suspect the 'visitations' to your house began right after it was released."

"This is— this is—" Whatever 'this' was, he didn't specify, because he was frantically leafing to the page with the article and photographs. I think I may be the only person to have ever seen Severus Snape speechless. From shocked disbelief, his expression quickly shifted to one of undisguised fury.

"I shall need the name of a good solicitor, Miss Granger," he said through clenched teeth.

"I understand. I have some here I can give you. Are you certain you don't want to speak with the Auror? Clare's just down the hall."

"And is she going to patrol the sidewalk in front of my house, wand at the ready? Perhaps I should just extend my wards. Possibly add a few stinging jolts for additional protection."

Was that even possible? I supposed that if anyone knew about it, Severus Snape would. Still…

"I know there are restrictions about the size of wards in Muggle areas," I felt compelled to tell him. "I can look up the specific regulations and get back to you on that."

"Merlin's bloody balls," he muttered, and tossed the magazine back at me. "Who in their right mind reads this drivel?"

"Hormonal teenage girls," I said. "Surely you've seen these magazines floating around Hogwarts."

"Not with a story about _me_ in them!"

"Look, why don't I put up wards behind my house as well? At least it would keep that one girl at bay, possibly others. On the bright side, once September comes all of you will be back at Hogwarts. They won't dare provoke you there."

Snape climbed to his feet. I took a brief moment to enjoy the fact that he did, indeed, look rather desirable in those stylish clothes.

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts, Miss Granger."

"Oh?" That surprised me.

"Minerva's granted me a year's sabbatical. I've been asked to edit Klingbeek's _Defensive Magic."_

"Really?" I was truly impressed now. _Defensive Magic in Theory and Practice_ was the gold standard for reference books on the subject, and as far as I knew hadn't been updated for more than a century. "That's quite an honor."

"I rather thought so, but not if I'm hounded in my own home while I'm trying to work." Professor Snape headed for my office door. "I suppose you're right about the girls being back in school in another month. I'll just need to avoid killing any of them before that time comes."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 4_**

Harry, to his credit, did not owl back with a sarcastic comment along the lines of, Why should he possibly want a copy of _TeenWitch Times_ , and had I gone totally mental? Instead, his message that evening indicated that he had read the article and was equally upset about Severus Snape being depicted in such a light. He asked what he could do.

 _"_ _I don't know",_ I wrote in reply. " _I suggested to Professor Snape that he talk to the Auror here, but he didn't see how she could possibly help. I'm not sure, either. No laws were broken other than Muggle laws regarding loitering, and trespassing for the girl we found in my yard. I went to see the Muggle police and filed a complaint about loiterers, being as my house is right next to Snape's. I think they expected me to complain about suspicious gang activity, but when I told the Constable teenage girls were involved, he decided that they must be prostitutes setting up shop in the neighborhood. And when he found out that they were only harmless teenagers, he gave me that Look. You know, the 'Oh No, a Hysterical Female Look' that I detest. I truly wanted to Hex him. At least he wrote it all down without laughing in my face. He said he'd see about sending patrol cars around more often, but I'll believe it when I see it. The Cokeworth Constabulary is doubtless having a great chuckle at my expense tonight._

 _I did tell Clare Stringfellow about the problem. She's far too grandmotherly to have ever been an Auror, Harry. Maybe she's gone soft in her semi-retirement, I don't know. Let's just say I wouldn't have counted on her to have my back in the war. Nice as can be, but definitely not the sort to put the fear of God into a dark wizard. Anyway, she said she'd do something about it, but that contacting the Muggle police was likely the best option. So if you hear about teenage girls being Hexed on Spinner's End in Cokeworth, don't be too surprised that Snape's taken the law into his own hands."_

The following morning dawned sunny and cool. I made myself a cup of coffee and decided to check out the world before venturing into the shower. I opened the front door and breathed in the fresh air, delighted to see that there was no parade of girls outside hoping for a peek into Professor Snape's windows. There was, however, a sign posted to the lamppost in front of his house: NO LOITERING. It didn't say 'by order of the Cokeworth Constabulary', so I suspected that it was Clare's idea of protecting Snape's privacy.

Wonderful.

I wasn't surprised when an irate Professor Snape showed up at my office two hours later.

"Seriously, Granger? One little sign is the best you can do? I'm sure those girls are running scared now."

"It was Clare's idea," I said wearily, and went on to explain that I'd personally contacted the Muggle police. That appeased him somewhat.

"I suppose I'll just have to wait it out, then." The man was still miffed.

"Why don't I get Clare? We can talk about it."

I called Clare in from her office. She entered the room, beaming at the sight of Snape.

"Professor! Did you notice? I put out a sign."

"Yes," he ground out. "I certainly did."

"Clare," I said in soothing tones, "why don't we sit down and discuss the situation?"

And so the three of us sat. Snape was sullen, Clare was cheerful, and I was doing my best to be accommodating to all parties. Needless to say, the conversation got nowhere. The best hope for action, Clare told him, was for one of the girls to actually do something to provoke a response. Even lobbing a raw egg at Number One was considered vandalism and would precipitate an arrest. Once someone was arrested and an example was set, the problem would likely go away. Or, she added as an afterthought, after September first the issue would no longer exist. Which we already knew.

The meeting was in no way helpful. Professor Snape left in a huff, and I'm sure Clare had no idea why. Dex eyed me as I headed home for the evening.

"Hard day?"'

"Not hard, frustrating." On the heels of the earlier meeting, an owl dumped a sheaf of parchment on my desk: a digest of pending litigation and hearings before the Wizengamot that I needed to be aware of and sign off on ASAP. No sooner had I finished that than I received a message from Kingsley Shacklebolt, thanking me for my submitting my Monthly Forum idea, but opting in favor of a different plan. He was tired of people getting misinformation from the _Daily Prophet_ , he said, and beginning the first of August (three short days from now!), he wanted all Regional Ministry Reps to begin sending out a Monthly Ministry Newsletter via owl post. In short, there was a mass mailing in my very near future.

"Bummer," Dex said.

"How was your day? It didn't seem that the clinic had much business."

"Not too much. A couple of spell backfires, a few jinxes, the usual summer mishaps that go on when the kiddies are out of school and forget they can't do magic at home." The mediwizard leaned back against Sondra's already vacated desk and sighed. "I'll be glad when the Quidditch hiatus is over and I can deal with more significant injuries. See a bit more action, you know?"

"Frankly, no," I told him. "I've had enough action to last a lifetime."

"Oh yeah, the war thing."

The war thing. I gazed at Dex's steel gray crew cut and icy blue eyes, and decided that I really didn't like the man. Harry, Ron and I had been close to death more times than anyone had a right to be, and he viewed occasions fraught with danger as an opportunity for an adrenaline rush. I wanted to slap him.

"Say," Dex continued, "I saw Severus Snape in here today. Is it true that some women find him really sexy?"

"Yes," I said, suddenly feeling very protective of Professor Snape.

"Do you?" he asked baldly.

"I haven't really thought about it," I snapped.

I rapidly made my goodbyes and left the office, choosing to walk home rather than Apparate. The weather was still nice and frankly, I wanted the exercise to clear my head. When I reached Spinner's End, I was appalled to find two girls hanging out in front of Number One.

"Excuse me." I went up to them. "Do you live here?"

One of the girls rolled her eyes. "Here? Of course not."

"And you?" I asked the other.

"No way! Manchester. I wouldn't live in a dump like this."

"Then why are you here?"

They looked at each other and giggled. "We want to see the bloke that lives here."

"Why?" I repeated.

"It's none of your business, is it?"

Evidently it would be one of those evenings where I wanted to slap everybody. I whipped out my wand. The girls' eyes widened in alarm.

"Either get out of here, or I will Hex you into tomorrow before you take your next breath," I snarled.

"You can't threaten me," one said petulantly. "I have a friend who's an Auror!"

"I have a friend who's an Auror, too," I said through clenched teeth, "and his name is Harry Potter. I think if he can handle Voldemort, he can certainly handle the likes of you!"

The girls fled, finally deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. I knew they would likely be back another day, but at least the street was empty for now.

I heaved a weary sigh and started towards my front door. The sound of slow applause stopped me.

"Bravo, Granger." Severus Snape was standing in his own doorway.

I pocketed my wand—only now thinking to check if there were Muggles about who'd seen the little altercation—and walked over.

"Well, that's two gone, anyway," I said. "Have you ever come out and confronted any of them?"

"The first day. But when I realized they were actually enjoying the fact that I was there in the flesh, I stopped." Snape eyed me critically. "You look rather done in."

"Oh, let's see… I have mounds of paperwork ahead of me, the Minister rejected a really wonderful idea I had, and I work with a brainless receptionist, a barely competent Auror, and a mediwizard who thinks traumatic injuries are a thrill a minute. How was your day?"

"Most certainly better than yours."

"Glad to hear it. Well, have a pleasant evening. I think I hear a bracing cup of tea calling my name." I turned to go, but Professor Snape's voice stopped me.

"I would think you'd want something stronger than tea, after your day."

"I would, but my liquor cabinet is quite bare at the moment," I joked, albeit truthfully.

"Mine isn't. Would you care to come in and join me?"

Severus Snape, inviting me into his home? I goggled at the thought. Yes, I decided, I would join him, if for no other reason than I was now one up on all the silly teenagers just by entering the Holy of Holies.

Snape ushered me inside. I treaded carefully, unsure what to expect.

I'd heard from Harry that while Snape was in St. Mungo's, recovering from his wounds, Aurors had entered the house to search for any stray Death Eaters hiding out there, dark artifacts, or other pertinent evidence. The house was a pit, horrid, dark, and depressing, Auror Robards told him, just like Severus Snape himself. That's why I was surprised to discover that Snape's two-up, two-down had undergone some drastic renovations of its own.

"Wow!" I said. I couldn't help myself. The interior was a creamy white with exposed brick on the wall that separated our two houses. An expensive-looking leather Chesterfield love seat sat next to bookshelves upon which both books and _objets d'art_ were cleverly arranged, with a deep navy wing chair nearby. There was soft lighting everywhere. Through the open doorway, I could tell that the all-white kitchen, small as it might be, looked like something from a decorating magazine. "This is… amazing!"

"Thank you," Snape said. "The house you're in, next door… Has it been completely redone as well?"

"No, not completely, and not anything like this."

Professor Snape waved me to the Chesterfield. "Please take a seat. Firewhiskey or wine? I have a nice Cabernet."

"The Cabernet, please."

He headed into the kitchen while I sat gingerly on the edge of the loveseat. This was certainly the last place I'd ever expected to find myself.

"How long has your home been updated?" I asked. It was, I thought, a nicer way of saying, This used to be a dump, didn't it?

"Since about a year after the war. I decided that it was time to make a change, what with the other renovations beginning in the neighborhood. I had bought the house for my mother years ago, and only used it during summer holidays. I never cared much what it looked like."

I could hear glasses clinking, the sound of wine being uncorked. "You could have moved on, couldn't you? There's still no guarantee that the neighborhood will rebound completely."

"Yes, I could have moved on. In fact, I may never recoup the expense of remodeling, but I decided I wanted it done properly, so there you are. I'll not likely ever sell it."

"I imagine the work was done during the school year while you were away?"

"Yes. Made it quite easy on the contractor."

"I've heard that your Defense classes at Hogwarts are quite popular," I said. "Will you miss teaching this year?"

Snape returned, wine glasses and bottle in hand. He placed them on the small coffee table in front of me. "Do you _really_ think that I will miss teaching?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "No."

"You are correct. I despised teaching Potions, but I find Defense to be tolerable. It's long been an interest of mine, as I'm sure you're aware. And as most of the students have first-hand knowledge of the war, they are actually taking it seriously. Which is the most important requirement, in my opinion." He poured the wine, then handed me a glass.

"To sober-minded students," I said, tapping my glass against his. "I'm all for it."

"You would be." Snape took a seat in the armchair and sipped his wine. "Tell me, Hermione, if you had to go back to Year One and do it all over again, would you abandon your hand-waving and attention-seeking and your continual chase for the highest marks?"

I thought about that.

"I think so," I said pensively. "Knowing what I know now, I would understand that education can be a matter of life and death and survival, and not just collecting N.E.W.T.'s."

"That's true, and while I'm extremely grateful for the diligence the majority of my students display in Defense class, their memories of the war will one day fade. Those students will be replaced by the usual dunderheads, whose goal is simply to get out of Hogwarts with decent marks."

His comment fell into a pool of silence. What Professor Snape said was spot-on and depressing. The wizarding world would eventually slide back into complacency, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. I cast about for a cheerier topic of conversation, but Snape spoke first.

"How are you liking your job here?"

"I think," I said with a grin, "that outside of my coworkers, it could be a great opportunity."

"You mentioned that Kingsley was not pleased with one of your proposals?"

I told him about my dashed plans for a Monthly Forum, and one thing led to another. I told him about being let go from my job in Magical Creatures, about how my parents had barely spoken to me since Harry and I left Australia, and how utterly frustrating Ronald Weasley could be. By the time I glanced at my watch, almost an hour had passed. I could scarcely believe that Snape had actually let me ramble on, let alone about personal matters. I apologized profusely.

"Tell me, Granger, did you have lunch?" The man had a rather familiar, sneering expression on his face.

"No. Why?"

"You seem to have enjoyed the effects of the wine quite a bit. If I'd known, I might have put out a cheese plate for you."

I was mortified.

"I beg your pardon. I should go."

Snape shook his hand. "Stay put. Why don't I whip up some omelets for us?"


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter 5_**

I awoke the next morning to the obnoxious chirping of my alarm clock, rousing me from a sound sleep. Wednesday? It was only Wednesday?

And as my head cleared and my eyes managed to open fully, I remembered. I'd had wine with Severus Snape—wine that had loosened my tongue a bit too much—and the man himself had made me dinner. If I were a betting woman, I would be flat-out broke this morning, because I never would have imagined such a thing in the realm of possibility. The funny thing was, I thought as I padded to the shower, Snape had been a rather pleasant companion. Presumption led me to believe that it was gratitude for chasing away some of the teenaged denizens, but then I'd never known Professor Snape to reciprocate kindness.

Not that I knew that much about the man. You would think that sitting six years in his classroom would have given me some insight, but the truth was that I'd learned more about him from the memories he gave Harry than through all the time we were face to face at Hogwarts. While Harry and Snape were not what you would call friendly, at least the bitter animosity had faded. The professor had actually invited Harry to his DADA class last year to help demonstrate certain defensive moves, much to the delight of his hero-worshipping students. When I asked Harry how it had gone, he'd merely shrugged and said that while Severus Snape still ruled his classroom with an iron fist, most of the familiar belittling behavior was absent. In fact, Harry went on, Snape seemed almost like an okay bloke. I suppose if you're no longer indentured to both a psychopathic maniac and a Machiavellian con man, you do tend to lighten up a bit.

Last night seemed to confirm that. Severus Snape had invited me into his home, allowed me to ramble on and on, and finally fed me, with nary a sneer to show for it. The problem was, it was now up to me to return the favor. I stood in the shower, hot water streaming over me, and tried to think how to go about it. I was no cook, so I wouldn't dream of trying to fix a meal for the man. By the time I arrived at the office, I'd decided that I would simply stock up on some wine and firewhiskey along with some cheese and fruit. Surely that would be acceptable, and I'd be prepared.

Unfortunately, I didn't see Snape for the rest of the week. I was tempted to send him an owl and invite him over, but that seemed terribly forward of me. When the weekend rolled around, I Apparated back to London to see my friends. They wanted to know how the job was going, and I gave them all the details.

"You sure you're liking it?" Ron asked, frowning slightly.

"Well enough so far," I said. "I don't know that I want to do it forever, but it's rather nice being in charge of the office and having the responsibility of dealing with the public instead of a bunch of bureaucrats. I need to thank Kingsley for the opportunity next time I see him in person."

"Yeah, but I miss you, Hermione."

"I miss you too, Ron, but it's not an insurmountable issue. I'm here for the weekend, aren't I"

He was on the verge of pouting. I ignored it.

"So tell me about Snape," Harry prompted. "Are there still flocks of teenaged girls hanging about?"

"I wouldn't say _flocks_ , but they still come around. I told a couple of them to leave the other day. I had to get rather shirty, I'm afraid. I even pulled my wand on them."

"You?" Ron looked incredulous.

"It was the end of a long day, and besides, they were the most disrespectful, smart-mouthed…" I broke off. Just the memory of the confrontation could make my blood boil all over again. "Anyway, I threatened them with you, Harry."

"Me?" he said, bemused. "Like you couldn't take them on yourself?"

"Name recognition factor," I shrugged. "It did the trick. Sorry."

"Well, you've got to question their taste, don't you? I mean, looking at old Snape as a sex object…" Ron appeared rather revolted.

"You know how the gossip mill works. At least Rita Skeeter hasn't got her fangs into him."

Unfortunately, I spoke too soon.

….

August arrived. I threw myself into adding blurbs of local information to the Monthly Ministry Update, then sending the newsletters off with flocks of very testy owls. Soon witches and wizards in my region were fully informed about the latest happenings at the Ministry. At least they were if they read them. I wondered just how many newsletters would be binned the instant they arrived. I had to admit that Kingsley _did_ have a good idea, but I hadn't yet given up hope for my Monthly Forum project.

August also brought a change in the visitors to Spinners' End. I was startled to see that there were more women and fewer teenagers parading past now. Evidently word of Snape's desirability had spread from daughter to mother. I sent him an owl.

 _"_ _How's it going? Have you had any more incidents with your admirers?"_

He responded almost at once.

 _"_ _I've been buried up to my neck in Klingbeek's_ Defensive Magic _text. The world could have ended today and I still wouldn't be aware of it."_

I wrote back.

 _"_ _May I invite you over for some wine and snacks? I'd like to reciprocate your kindness of last week. Surely Klingbeek would understand if you abandoned him for a brief while."_

This time, there was no immediate response. I was just debating over take-away curry or Chinese when there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find Snape standing there.

"I assume you meant now," he said, striding in without preamble.

"Of course. Make yourself at home. I'm afraid my sitting room doesn't quite compete with yours. Gavin's taste runs a bit different."

"That's an understatement." Snape eyed the shabby green sofa and decided to opt for the director's chair instead.

Tonight he was wearing jeans and an untucked crisp white shirt. I reminded myself that I had no business admiring his new look.

"Wine?" I asked.

He nodded. I went to the kitchen to get the wine, along with the cheese and sausages I'd bought earlier. It was then that I discovered that my landlord owned nothing in the way of wine glasses.

"I'm sorry," I called in to the sitting room, "but Gavin doesn't appear to be a wine person. We'll have to make do with water tumblers, if that's okay."

"No wine glasses?" Snape appeared in the doorway, looking put out. "The philistine. I'll get some from my house."

While he was gone, I busied myself slicing cheese and cutting sausages into bite-size pieces. When I heard what sounded like raised voices outside, I went to see what was happening. Severus Snape, wine glasses in hand, was in the midst of a heated argument with none other than Rita Skeeter herself.

"I have every right to be here!" Rita snapped, poking a long, scarlet-enameled finger toward Snape's chest. "It's a public street!"

"Don't even think of touching me," Snape snarled in a deadly voice that I remembered all too well from years past.

"What's going on?" I demanded, walking into the fray. Surely Rita wasn't one of Snape's stalkers, was she?

Rita stared at me in astonishment.

"Hermione Granger? What in the name of Merlin's nose hairs are _you_ doing here?"

"The question," I said calmly, "is what _you're_ doing here, Rita."

"I don't believe it's any of your concern, is it?"

"Miss Skeeter," Snape drawled in icy tones, "would simply love to feature me in an article for the _Daily Prophet._ "

"All I wanted was to discuss—politely, I might add—the possibility of an interview. Surely, Professor Snape, you're aware of the sensational story about you in _TeenWitch Times'_ last issue _._ "

"I told you. I am not speaking with you, not now, not ever!"

"But my readers want to know how it feels to be a sex symbol after all those years spent hiding away at Hogwarts, serving as Dumbledore's spy."

"I am not a sex symbol!" Snape said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, but you are," Rita gushed. "I've heard about all the girls coming by your house, hoping to catch just a tiny glimpse of you. People are _very_ interested in you, Severus Snape. The oh-so private man, suddenly catapulted into the public eye… Don't you want to give them an insight into the real you?"

"I'm calling an Auror if you don't leave, Rita," I said. Being as the woman was now a legally registered Animagus, it was the best I could do by way of a threat.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure Harry Potter will come here all the way from London to chase me off," she said scornfully.

I'd actually been thinking of the nearest Auror—namely, Clare Stringfellow—who was no threat at all, when push came to shove. I prayed Skeeter wouldn't drive me to it.

"This is going to get very ugly if you don't leave," I said in no uncertain terms. "This is a public street. A public _Muggle_ street, at that."

Skeeter shot me a look that could have frozen water in the middle of the tropics; it quickly morphed into a simpering smile.

"Fine. I'll be moving on, then. Not a problem."

"Don't you dare show your face here again!" Professor Snape snapped.

Rita gave me one more glance, one of outright curiosity.

"You never said what you're doing here, Hermione."

The idea came to me then—from where, I have no clue. It never occurred to me to take a second or two to reconsider the ramifications. All I could think was that females might leave Severus Snape alone if he wasn't quite so…unattached. So available.

"I'm with Severus," I announced. "We're together. He and I are seeing each other."

And with that, I moved next to him and entwined my arm with his.

It seemed like an awfully long time before anyone spoke. Rita was regarding me with her mouth hanging open, shock written on her face. Snape, meanwhile, had gone rigid as a board.

Skeeter finally recovered, looking horribly triumphant. "Then I should get cracking on my article. This will make the front page of the _Prophet_ in the morning!"

Beaming with new inspiration, she strutted off. When she turned the corner of the building I found myself holding my breath until I heard the crack of Disapparition.

Snape seized my arm and propelled me back into the house.

"Are you mad?" he hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to help you. If people think you're involved with someone, all the sex symbol business will die down! It's only because you're available that these girls are so fired up about you."

He stared at me in utter disbelief. "You're barking!"

"You're not a female. You don't understand how these things work."

"And you've had such a wealth of experience in the romance department that you're an authority on all this?"

It was a rather low blow. I doubt that Snape actually knew my pitiful background in the subject, but he'd still managed to hit the nail far too close to the head. He went on.

"You were silly enough to link your name with mine, and now they'll be hounding you. Did you happen to think of that, Little-Miss-Know-It-All"

"It will all die down," I argued, trying to reassure myself as much as Snape. "So what if she writes her stupid article? No one believes what she writes anyway. All we have to do is pretend that we're in a relationship for a month or so—"

"A month or so!"

"Once September comes and the children are all back at Hogwarts and people find better things to obsess over, it'll be finished!"

Snape still looked infuriated. "Granger, you're the very definition of naiveté."

"I'm not! Look, Skeeter's written about me before. It's an aggravation, and then something more newsworthy takes its place. It'll just go away," I insisted.

"You still don't see it, do you? _You're_ a war hero _. I'm_ a war hero. This is the very stuff Skeeter longs for in her wildest dreams. It's not going to just go away."

"You're wrong," I said stubbornly.

"Here." Snape thrust the two wine glasses he still clutched in one hand toward me. "Consider them a gift for your philistine landlord."

And with that, he turned and stalked out, the door slamming resoundingly behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6_**

I awoke the next morning to the bellowing of Ron Weasley's Patronus in my ear.

 _"_ _What the HELL, Hermione?!"_

Which meant that the _Daily Prophet_ had arrived.

I groaned aloud. I'd intended to send Ron a message the night before, preparing him for the worst, but it had slipped my mind entirely. I sent back my own Patronus with an abbreviated explanation before I showered and dressed.

When I marched into the office, I discovered it was to the frank stares of my staff. Sondra took one look at me and burst into tears. Clare looked worriedly at me, as though a frank motherly talking-to was in order. Dex just started laughing.

"Seriously?"

Still chuckling, he turned into the clinic door where the first patient of the day was waiting. I trudged into my office and shut the door. A copy of the _Prophet_ was on my desk, but I couldn't bring myself to read it. I knew the article would be on the front page; Rita wouldn't want a bombshell like this buried in the middle somewhere. It didn't take long for Clare to come knocking.

"Good morning, Hermione," she began tentatively.

I put up a warning hand. "Don't start. I can explain."

"You don't have to explain anything. What you do in your personal life is your own business and no one else's."

Apparently I would be explaining myself for quite a while to come. I took a deep breath. "It was a deliberate ruse, Clare."

She blinked. "A ruse?"

"Yes, a ruse to try to get rid of Professor Snape's unwanted admirers. The idea was that if he was off the market, the _TeenWitch Times_ story would die down faster. It will only be for a month or so until his female fan club is either back in school or otherwise occupied. But please keep it to yourself, Clare."

"I see." The woman looked disappointed. "That's a shame. I thought…"

"Professor Snape and I are not involved. I have a boyfriend in London."

"Of course."

I frowned. "Is there a problem?"

"No, not at all. I just hoped that perhaps Professor Snape had finally found some happiness. Seems like the poor man deserves it, after all he's been through." Clare shook her head, smiling. "If I were a bit younger, I might even set my cap at him."

I laughed at that. "You never know, he might like older women."

"No, he needs someone younger, someone smart as a whip to keep up with him. Someone like you."

"Clare, I told you, I—"

"—have a boyfriend, I know. Still, you might want to think about it, in case things with your young man don't work out. Just don't wait too long, though," she added in warning. "Now that every last witch in Britain is aware of Severus Snape, someone might snap him up in a red hot minute. I hope he knows to keep an eye out for Amortentia."

"I'm sure he does," I agreed.

When Clare left the office, I tried hard to buckle down to work, but our conversation kept coming back to me. Certainly during my school years, no witch in her right mind would have viewed Severus Snape as a desirable mate. Oh, I'd overheard some of the girls make crude comments about taking the good professor to bed to find out just what was underneath all those buttons he perennially wore. And I'd heard rumors of a few crushes, which probably lasted until the poor girl received her next tongue-lashing in Potions class. But now?

Over the past several weeks, I'd learned that Severus Snape was not the same angry man, the hated Greasy Git who had haunted the halls of Hogwarts. He had apparently made some degree of peace with his past and moved forward. Oh, he still had his moments, the slamming of my front door last night echoing in my mind all too clearly. But that anger was deserved, along with his wrath at _TeenWitch Today_ and Rita Skeeter. Certainly he'd been pleasant enough the evening I shared wine and omelets with him.

His DADA class was highly thought of by his students, and he'd earned a new measure of respect at the school. That was something I never would have foreseen. He was certainly much better dressed, and his home was no longer the dark lair of a reviled recluse. Plus, he'd achieved the honor of being selected to edit the new version of Klingbeek's text on Defense, which was no small feat. The gentrified version of Severus Snape made him, in fact, a decidedly desirable man.

I contemplated that thought for the remainder of the morning.

….

Over lunch, I wrote a lengthy letter to Harry and Ron, trying to clarify what the Skeeter article was all about. Still, I doubted that the letter alone would suffice; knowing my friends, I would probably have to go to London over the weekend to smooth the waters.

I turned my attention to how best to make amends to Snape. A heartfelt apology for interfering in Snape's life was certainly in order. Although I doubted that he particularly wanted to see me just now, I needed to try. I sent him a letter as well, terse and to the point.

 _Truce? I'd like to talk to you this evening._

He left me waiting until almost quitting time before sending his reply.

 _Apparate to my sitting room at 7._

I arrived home at six-thirty to find that a hefty pile of hate mail had been delivered through my letter slot during the day. I sighed, waded through it, and changed out of my work clothes. Precisely at seven p.m., I Apparated next door, last night's unopened bottle of wine in my hands.

"Professor Snape?" I called to the empty room.

"Come up." A disembodied voice sounded from upstairs.

I found the man in the second bedroom, apparently used as his home office. The room was already small; the layers of books and parchment strewn everywhere made it seem even smaller.

"Good evening, Professor," I began.

"I think," Snape said coolly as he glanced up from an overburdened desk, "that as you've announced to the world that we're in such a cozy, loving relationship, you should call me Severus, don't you?"

I turned bright pink. "About that…"

"Yes. About that." He leaned back in his chair and waited.

Snape, I realized, was wearing a black tee shirt and black jeans. Short sleeves! I had never seen the man's arms before. I found myself staring in fascination. I wanted to look for what might remain of his Dark Mark, but I knew better than to try.

"I—uh—wanted to apologize to you," I said, dragging my gaze back to his face.

"Oh? Apologize for making my life more stressful than it already is?"

"That wasn't my intention. Yes, I should have approached you with my idea first, but—well—"

"—but you didn't, and so here we are. Severus Snape and Hermione Granger madly in love for—how long did you say?"

"A month," I ventured, fully aware that my face was going up in flames.

"Fine." He sighed wearily, rubbing his face. "How do you propose that we go about this pretense?"

"Well…" I'd done some thinking during the day. "We should probably go to Diagon Alley a time or two. And eat at the Leaky Cauldron. And maybe that new restaurant that opened there, I forget the name of it, Harry would know. I don't want it to take too much of your time."

He shot me a withering look that suggested I'd already begun down that slippery slope.

"Anything else, O Mistress of Manipulation?"

I shook my head, positive that my face could get no redder.

"Then here are my conditions. Firstly, I refuse to set foot in Diagon Alley until the term has started at Hogwarts. Being seen together in public is one thing. Being followed around by a bunch of besotted adolescent girls is something else."

"That's fair. I suppose we could go to a Muggle pub or something around here; we might still be spotted, and it would be more low key."

"Also," Snape continued, "I will not allow you to feed information to _anybody_ about our supposed relationship in hopes of spreading the rumors for my supposed benefit. Not Potter, not Weasley, not your co-workers, and certainly not Rita Skeeter."

"Harry and Ron already know that it's a sham, as does Clare, the Auror at work. And I wouldn't dream of talking to Rita or any other reporter who comes to my door."

"As far as any public displays of affection are concerned, they are to be limited to holding hands, and that only if absolutely necessary. Is that clear?"

I nodded. I could only think that I'd missed out on my one shot at kissing Severus Snape. I put that thought away for later examination.

"And at the end of September, this charade ends. I don't care if women are still lined up at my door; my part in this is over. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do I have your word?"

"Yes. Severus," I added, trying it out on my tongue.

Snape pursed his lips, evidently ready to point out that as we were not currently in the public eye, I could dispense with such familiarity. Instead, he heaved a deep sigh.

"Fine. _Hermione._ "

I timidly held up the bottle still in my hand. "I brought wine," I ventured.

"Later," he said brusquely.

Which meant… what? Did he want me to leave now?

"I'll just put it in the fridge then, shall I?"

"Do that, and then come back up. I could use some help digging up information on dealing with Grindylows."

I blinked. At least I wasn't being dismissed. I hurried down to the kitchen to chill the wine, then came right back.

"Grindylows?" I asked carefully, wondering why I was being asked for my assistance.

"This editing assignment I've taken on," Snape said, one arm sweeping around the small room, " while being a feather in my cap, is also a pain in the neck. You know the size of Klingbeek's book. I need to locate the latest research on every topic he addresses. I'm currently addressing Bundimun and the roles they've played in Dark Rites. At the rate I'm progressing, I will be editing for the rest of my natural life. Being as you're so eager to make amends…"

"You want me to be your research assistant?" I muttered. "But that's practically a full time job. I already have a full time job!"

"I'm sure you can find time for both for—oh, a month, say? Until the end of September?"

I'd been had.

…...

We worked for a solid two hours. Severus— it came easily to me now—wrote copious notes on long pieces of parchment while I read through foreign wizarding journals where there was even the remotest mention of Grindylows. I certainly learned more than I ever wanted to about the underwater creatures. Finally, my stomach began to make rather impressive, mutinous noises.

"I'm starving," I said by way of apology. "Surely you must be as well."

"Not particularly. Late lunch," Snape grunted, then looked up at my disappointed face. "Oh, fine. There's a pub nearby."

I waved toward the common wall between our houses. "That's all right. I'll just grab something next door."

"I meant that we would both go, Gra—Hermione. We might as well begin this farce tonight."

Gratefully, I nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 7_**

Much to my surprise, I found Severus Snape to be a pleasant dinner companion. No lust-crazed girls had followed us to the pub (missed opportunity there, drat the luck) and we spent a quiet evening discussing a wide variety of subjects. He could be quite loquacious when he wanted to, I discovered. I wondered: having spent so many years as taciturn bearer of burdensome secrets, had Snape managed to shed the uncommunicative persona once and for all? While he certainly didn't reveal anything about his personal life during the meal, there was no shortage of conversation. I had to admire the man's intellect; what would be doing now, had he not taken the path toward the Dark?

I also admired the leather jacket over that short-sleeved black tee shirt and thought: at Hogwarts, would it have killed Professor Snape to dress in a more modern style just once?

"May I ask you a question?" I said finally.

Snape nearly choked on his drink. "Why didn't you say that years ago? All those years of your incessant handwaving when I could have just said, 'No, Miss Granger, you may not ever ask me a question', and that would have been the end of it!"

"Cheeky sod," I muttered. "I was just wondering… Your clothes are so different from what you wore before. I mean, you were certainly well-dressed at Hogwarts, but—"

"Well-dressed for an anachronism from another century, you mean?"

"Er…"

"It's true. I so wanted to embrace the wizarding world and leave the Muggle world behind that I had no compunction whatsoever at ditching Muggle garb. I suppose the all-black, the frock coat and so forth, became a uniform of sorts. Although, in my defense, I didn't scrimp on fabrics and materials. I kept Eugenia Malkin's tailors quite busy. As for now?" Snape glanced down briefly at his clothes. "When I left St. Mungo's, I went back to my dark, ugly house and sat there in the midst of it all and decided I simply couldn't go on with the way things were. So I decided to renovate the house, and somewhere in the midst of that, I decided I needed a bit of renovation myself."

"Well, I think you look great," I said frankly. "It doesn't surprise me in the least that _TeenWitch_ would feature you."

He glared at me. "Don't talk rubbish. Now, I want to discuss the weekend."

"The weekend?" I repeated, hoping I'd misheard him. I'd planned to go back to London to see Harry and Ron.

"Yes. With your assistance, I should be able to finish the Bundimun section and start on another."

"I don't suppose there's any point in saying that I had plans for the weekend."

"None."

"Fine," I grumbled. Harry and Ron would just have to make do with drastically shortened visits. I was quite sure my friends would have something to say when they found out that I'd sold my soul to Severus Snape for the next six weeks.

…..

As August drew to a close, I was exhausted. It felt as though I'd spent nearly every waking moment either at work or doing research for Snape. People noticed.

"It's summer," Clare protested when I arrived at work one morning, looking particularly pale. "You should be out of doors, sunning yourself and doing fun things, not spending it locked up with that man."

I laughed at that. "I'm his slave, Clare. He doesn't know when to quit."

Unfortunately, those words were not only overheard, but taken completely out of context. When the _Daily Prophet_ arrived the next day and the headline screamed GRANGER SAYS "I'M SNAPE'S SEX SLAVE, HE DOESN'T KNOW WHEN TO QUIT", I knew where to look for the leak.

"Please close the door and sit down, Sondra," I said from behind my desk, my expression grim.

"Yes, Hermione." The girl sat, guilt written all over her face.

"I take it you overheard me talking with Clare yesterday?"

"Clare?" she echoed, doing a poor attempt at feigning ignorance.

"Yes, Clare. And after hearing part of our conversation, you saw fit to send an owl to Rita Skeeter, didn't you?" I practically threw the _Prophet_ at her.

Sondra's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, Hermione," she wailed. "She promised me a gift certificate to Gladrags if I had any news for her about you and Professor Snape!"

"What you overheard was not news, Sondra. I've been doing research for Professor Snape this summer. He's editing a textbook on Defense Against the Dark Arts. When I said I was his slave, it was a figure of speech," I seethed.

The girl burst into tears.

I sighed and pushed a box of tissues towards her. "Here."

"I'm so sorry, Her-Hermione. Maybe," Sondra choked out between sobs, "if you—you— t-talked to Miss Skeeter about it, she c-could get a de-detraction printed for the _Evening Prophet."_

" _Retraction_ ," I corrected as the girl blew her nose noisily, "and Miss Skeeter will likely do nothing of the sort. She loves nothing more than dragging people's names through the mud."

"So I'm fired, then?" the girl asked, her voice quivering with the effort of holding herself together.

Frankly, I was all for it, but Sondra looked like a rather bedraggled kitten that'd been left out in a cold rain. She was as much a victim of Skeeter's poison quill as I was.

"No, you're not fired. This time. But if I find out that you've so much as looked cross-eyed at Rita Skeeter again—"

"Oh no, Hermione. N-never. I promise!"

I dismissed her after a few more stern warnings. The girl paused in the doorway, wringing her damp tissue with both hands.

"You're really lucky to be working with Professor Snape, Hermione. I think he's sex on a stick!"

I watched the door close behind Sondra and buried my head in my hands. Sex on a stick. Oh, I was going to pay for this big time.

It didn't take long. Within the hour, Professor Snape came charging into my office looking hell-bent on murder.

"Do I even want to know?" he seethed. "Have you been—"

"Don't even think of finishing that sentence," I hissed. "Of course I haven't been talking to Rita Skeeter! And if you're going to carry on at this volume, I'd cast a Muffliato, if I were you. Dex has a waiting room full of patients next door!"

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but instead chose to drop into the chair and look daggers across the desk at me. "So just where did dear Rita come up with little tidbit of hers?" he demanded. "There's usually a tiny nugget of fact somewhere amongst her lies."

I took a deep breath and tried to explain about yesterday's conversation with Clare, along with Sondra's role in the fiasco.

"Sondra? The girl who was making moon-eyes at me when I walked in the door? And you allowed her to continue to work here?" Snape asked in disbelief.

"For now," I said tiredly.

"I would have fired her on the spot!"

"I know you would. I nearly did."

"As for your conversation with the Auror,—"

" _Don't,"_ I warned him. "It was not even a conversation. It was a sentence or two, and there was not a thing in it to suggest impropriety. If you think you can tell me how to speak with my co-workers, you are dead wrong."

Snape regarded me silently for a long moment. I wanted to fidget under his unyielding gaze, but I was determined not to let the man intimidate me. Finally, he spoke.

"Now what? Oh, let me guess—we let it ride because it will aid in our little pretense. How are you enjoying your newfound fame, by the way? I hope your fan mail is every bit as delightful as mine."

I hated the cruel tone in his voice, so much like the Severus Snape I'd known before. I'd grown accustomed to our growing camaraderie. I wanted the new Severus back.

"I'll write to the editor of the _Prophet,_ along with a threatening letter to Rita. I should have squashed her flat years ago when I had the chance," I muttered. "And I'll have Sondra send a letter to Skeeter as well, telling her to stay away in no uncertain terms."

"Fine." He rose to leave, but turned back when I spoke.

"Severus… I really can't apologize to you enough. I upended first your life and now my life, and no, I'm not enjoying it one bit. But it _will_ be over some day. In fact, I won't even be living next door to you come the end of September, so you won't even be able to so much as scowl in my direction. Come to think of it, I really need to start looking for a permanent place."

He hesitated. When he spoke, it seemed the anger had fled, leaving him much the same man I'd recently gotten to know.

"If you like, I can suggest a few areas about town," he said grudgingly.

"That would be great, thanks." I smiled. As an afterthought, I added, "By the way, Sondra adores you, so please don't curse her on your way out. She gave you quite a compliment."

"A compliment? Wonderful. What?" Severus regarded me with narrowed eyes. Narrowed dark, rich eyes, I noted.

"She said you were 'sex on a stick'."

Snape just gaped at me.

…..

We moved on to Doxies that evening. Severus was in better humor, and when I drifted away from reading about Doxies to a fascinating article on Streeler venom, he let me read in peace. At one point, I looked up and gazed at the stacks of magical books and literature surrounding us and thought, _I'm in heaven_. There was suddenly nothing I wanted more than to immerse myself in the world of academia, and I felt an awful pang of loss.

"I miss this," I blurted. "I miss this so much!"

"Miss what?" Severus paused in the middle of the sentence he was writing to stare at me.

"This," I said, holding up the periodical I'd been reading. "I miss learning. I miss the feeling that I get when I suddenly understand a concept I've been struggling with. The satisfaction that come when I master a new skill."

To his credit and my surprise, Snape didn't laugh outright.

"I've often wondered why you didn't choose to continue your education. I'm surprised that you didn't opt for a Mastery in one subject or another. You could certainly have had your pick."

"I couldn't choose just one," I said ruefully. "Besides, Ron and Harry were already in Auror Training, and I wanted to start doing my part in the wizarding world, too."

"I suppose that since you couldn't choose between all your studies, you would have felt compelled to master all of them," Snape said drily.

I waited to hear the sneering, malicious note in his voice, but it was conspicuously absent. And then something remarkable happened: Severus Snape smiled at me.

And I smiled back.

…..

I left to go home around eleven feeling ridiculously happy, even if there was a protesting kink in my back from the evening's work. When I unlocked the front door, I realized that almost every light in the place was on. I hadn't turned any lights on, had I? Had Gavin returned early from Devonshire?

I could hear someone moving about upstairs; the toilet flushed. I drew my wand as a precaution and crept up the stairs.

"Hello? Gavin?"

The bathroom door opened and Ron's ginger head appeared.

"Oy! he protested. "Can't a man use the loo in peace? And who's this bloke Gavin?"

I heaved a huge sigh of relief and put my wand away.

"Gavin's my landlord, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Him." Ron swept me into an enormous hug and kissed me until I could barely breathe.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I gasped finally.

"Come to see you, of course. And make sure old Snapey hasn't chained you to the bedpost."

Had the article in the Prophet only been this morning? I swore it felt like this day would never end.

"That's not funny," I said.

"Seriously? Harry and I nearly fell over laughing about it."

"Well, I didn't fall over laughing. And don't call him 'old Snapey'. That's rude," I added for good measure.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Ron grumbled. "How'd Skeeter come up with that bit of rubbish, anyway?"

"She bribed my receptionist to let her know if something was going on. I almost ended up firing the girl. She—"

"Wait." Ron was scowling at me now. "Your receptionist told her about it? Are you saying the story's true?"

"Ronald Weasley! Of course it's not true. What do you take me for?"

"Sorry. It's just—you said—never mind," he grumbled.

When I turned to head back downstairs, Ron caught my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks.

"What?" I asked, bewildered.

"Well, I was sort of hoping that we could…" He angled his head toward the bedroom door. "I mean, it's been a couple of weeks, Hermione. I miss you."

All I could think was that I was exhausted and had to get up for work in the morning. Still, I had barely seen Ron all summer. I wasn't the only one who'd been working hard. And he _was_ my fiancé, more or less. I sighed.

"Ron, listen. Can we make this sort of quick? I'm bushed, and I have to get up early. It's not that I don't miss you, you know that."

"I'll take what I can get," he grinned, and pulled me into the bedroom.

We'd barely shed half our clothes when I began having second thoughts.

"Ron, this isn't going to work," I muttered finally, pushing myself away from him.

"Don't be stupid," he grunted, and pulled me back. "Just relax."

"Stop it, Ron!" I shoved him away. "I'm tired, I have to work tomorrow, and frankly, I don't want to do this right now. For pity's sake, Severus is sitting only six feet away on the other side of that wall!" I flapped my hand in that direction.

Ron let go of me then, staring at me as though I'd just transformed into a Flobberworm.

"What's with you, Hermione? You don't want to make love, and you're not even that chuffed to see me. Maybe dear Rita's not so far off the mark after—wait. Severus? Did you just call him Severus?"

"Of course I did, that's part of the plan, you prat! Rita's not—I'm not—oh, damn it all!" I burst into tears. "Ron, I'm tired, my job is stressful, I need to find a permanent place to live, and right now I wish I'd gotten a Mastery in something!"

"A Mastery? What? Blimey, Hermione!" Disgusted, Ron jumped off the bed and threw his clothes back on. "Tell you what, why don't you let me know when you've gotten a grip and maybe we can have a decent conversation!"

"You weren't interested in a conversation," I accused him, swiping my wet cheek with one arm.

"Well, maybe afterwards I would have been!"

"Just go away, Ron!" I blurted.

"Gladly!"

And with a loud crack, my boyfriend of four years Disapparated, leaving behind a ringing silence.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter 8_**

On the first of September, the students headed off for Hogwarts, and Coffee Cartel opened for business.

On the second of September, a sunny Saturday morning, Snape and I sat at a small table in the new coffee shop and sipped our drinks. It felt like a perfectly decadent luxury. Not only was I not at work, neither was Severus. More remarkable still, it was all his idea.

Late the evening before, he'd pushed away from his piles of parchment and announced that he was done.

 _"_ _Forget the weekend," he told me. "I've had about as much of this as I can stand for a while. If you wish, escape to London to visit your friends."_

 _I reluctantly closed the book I'd been reading. "I decided I'm not going to see them this weekend, actually. Ron's not in my good graces right now, and Harry's probably off watching Ginny play Quidditch somewhere. What are your plans, then?"_

 _"_ _Preferably, to have a bit of a lie-in and visit the new coffee shop. It opened today."_

 _"_ _May I join you? It sounds wonderful."_

 _"_ _For the lie-in part as well?" He arched an eyebrow in my direction, sending a furious blush up my cheeks._

I awoke earlier than I'd hoped on Saturday morning, but convinced myself to dawdle in bed anyway. I stayed there until I couldn't stand feeling unproductive any longer. I took a leisurely shower, dressed, and walked to Coffee Cartel to meet Professor Snape.

Severus sat at a table in the corner, reading the _Daily Prophet,_ disguised to prying Muggle eyes as _Midlands Farming Today._

"Good morning," I said, placing my flat white on the table across from him.

"Morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Decent enough," he shrugged, eyeing me over the rim of his own cup. "And you?"

I nodded. "Yes, but what passes for a lie-in these days is a bit different from what they used to be. I'm grateful if I can sleep past seven."

Severus took a sip of something that looked deep, dark and potent. "Indeed."

"I haven't seen the paper yet today. Any new dirt from our friend?"

"No, although I certainly don't think we've heard the last from her."

I lifted my cup to my lips, savoring the aroma wafting past my nose. "Mmm, this smells wonderful. I wish they had served these at Hogwarts."

"Do you now?" Snape's eyes glittered dangerously. "All those little House-Elf Baristas, just waiting to fulfill your caffeinated fancies… I can see them lined up now, can't you, Hermione?"

"Very funny." I grumbled.

When Severus returned to scanning the morning's news, I gazed thoughtfully out the shop's large windows. A new school year at Hogwarts… Even if I was no longer a student, the idea of a brand-new school year never failed to send a shiver of excitement down my spine: new textbooks, fresh parchment, never-used quills...

"Do you wish you were back in your classroom today?" I asked abruptly.

Snape looked up from the paper to stare at me. "Frankly, no. As much as I enjoy the subject I teach, it's still tedious to deal with the students whose motivation is sorely lacking."

"The dunderheads?" I asked, grinning.

"Precisely."

"I thought your classes were in great demand."

"They are, but Defense is still a required course. Which means there will always be dunderheads."

"Maybe you could take a sabbatical every few years. Would Minerva allow that?" As long as I was calling Professor Snape 'Severus', I thought, I might as well go whole hog and call the entire Hogwarts staff by their first names. Except for Filch, of course. The thought of addressing him as 'Argus' made me positively cringe.

"Of course not. Unless there's another text to be edited, she's not likely to give me time off for the sole purpose of feeding my ego."

The fact that Severus Snape and I were at a neighborhood coffee shop, relaxing and making conversation like two normal people was rather amazing, I thought. It occurred to me that I'd begun to think of him as a friend, which was just as well, being that I was still miffed at Ron and Harry was focused on Ginny. Did Severus think of me as a friend? Probably not. A thorn in the side, more likely.

We'd sat in companionable silence for several minutes when Snape suddenly shifted in his seat to lean across the table.

"We're being followed," he said _sotto voce_.

"Followed? What? By whom?" For one brief, horrifying moment I was taken back to the Snatchers of five years earlier, then the tiny little pang of fear evaporated as quickly as it had come. Every time I thought I'd put the war years behind me, the least little thing could prompt a sudden memory.

"The young man in the purple shirt by the window. He just sat down. This is the third time I've seen him in the past few days."

I tried to get a good look at the man without gawking. "You're sure he's not just new in the neighborhood?"

"I was a spy, Hermione. I'm sure. I saw him in front of your house yesterday morning, lingering a bit too long. And loitering on the corner by my house. And now, here."

The man turned in his seat, saw me watching, and quickly looked away.

"Do you suppose he's working for Rita? She knows she doesn't dare come around herself."

"More than likely. At least, I hope so. I've only just gotten rid of most of the teenage girls. The last thing I want is to find a male pining for me."

"He might be a Muggle, for all we know. We can't just take our wands out and tell him to go away," I pointed out.

Severus glanced meaningfully at the man's feet and back to me. I got it then.

"Dragon-hide boots," I said. "He's a wizard."

"I suggest you contact your Auror and ask her to check up on him," Severus said.

His suggestion made sense. I looked longingly at my nice, hot flat white. By the time I'd gone off somewhere to send a Patronus, it would probably be a nice, lukewarm flat white.

"I'll slip into the Ladies'," I said. I climbed to my feet and went in search of the loo, certain that the man was watching me, and that Severus was watching him.

But by the time the Patronus was sent and I returned to my seat, the man was gone.

"He just left," Snape informed me.

"Oh. Damn." I had barely sat back down when the door of the coffee shop opened and Clare came huffing in breathlessly.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you quite certain she's a real Auror? Isn't the word 'stealth' mentioned somewhere during their training?"

"Remember Tonks?" I pointed out.

"Cut from the same cloth," he muttered.

I waved the woman over. "Thanks for coming, Clare, but I'm afraid the man's already gone."

"Oh." She looked disappointed. "Well, that's a shame, isn't it? Still, tell me all the details so I can keep an eye out for a few days."

Snape was still looking dubious, but I began to describe the mystery man while Clare sat down and began to jot notes on a napkin.

"About six feet tall and around a hundred-eighty pounds. Longish dark hair." It described a lot of men in Britain. For that matter, it also described Severus. I pressed on. "He's in his thirties, I think. Wearing a purple tee shirt and jeans. Sorry. I know it's not much to go on."

"Professor Snape, can you add anything?" Clare looked hopeful.

"He's left-handed, wore black dragon-hide boots, and had what looked like a mole on his right cheek. About here," Severus gestured. "His hair was parted on the left side and he wore a wristwatch on his left wrist."

I was impressed. Once a spy, always a spy.

"Right. Well, I can pop into the office and look through my BOLO records, see if anything rings a bell. Say…" Clare stared at the community message board on the far wall, transfixed. "Are you two doing anything this afternoon?"

I exchanged glances with Severus. The question sounded suspiciously like she thought of the two of us as a couple.

"Why?" he asked carefully.

"Look at the sign over there. The river bank clean-up project."

'HELP US CLEAN UP! WHILE THE CITY WORKS ON RESTORING OUR RIVER TO ITS LOVELY PRISTINE STATE, WE CAN PICK UP RUBBISH ALONG THE PROPOSED COKEWORTH GREENWAY. VOLUNTEERS NEEDED THIS SATURDAY AT ONE P.M.

BRING A BAG. BRING TWO! BRING THREE! LET'S TAKE BACK OUR CITY!'

Snape snorted . "If that river was ever pristine, it predates the Industrial Revolution."

"What are you suggesting, Clare?" I asked.

"Why don't the two of you join the group for a while this afternoon? See if your friend shows up as well."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Clare wasn't done. "In fact," she went on, her eyes lighting up, "I'll come too, and that way I can get a good look at him. Although I might want to disguise myself a bit. Don't want to look too much like an Auror and give it all away."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Severus deadpanned.

Beneath the table, my foot connected with his shin.

"That might work," I agreed. "Severus? Can you afford to put off your editing a bit longer?"

"If I must," he muttered.

…..

Snape was less than thrilled with the idea, which came as no surprise whatsoever. I think it was because he doubted Clare's version of going undercover, not just that he didn't want to spend the afternoon picking up orange rinds and empty drinks cans. Still he agreed, and at one o'clock, we joined a group of twenty or so people at the river.

Before the litter pick-up got underway, a large, blond woman who identified herself as the president of the Cokeworth Restoration Society spoke for a few minutes about the future plans for a walking path along the river, even going so far as to paint a rosy picture of boating some future day when the weather was fine. I didn't need to see the expression on Snape's face to know that he was trying very hard not to laugh at the woman's wildly optimistic view of Cokeworth's future.

I didn't spot the mystery man, nor did I see Clare immediately. When I finally noticed her on the fringes of the crowd, I saw that she was clad in dirty mismatched clothing and a worn straw hat, looking every bit a homeless and impoverished derelict. I nudged Severus and angled my head in her direction.

"Wonderful," he said dully. "How does that make her blend in? Have you ever known anybody like that to join in a civic improvement project? Usually, getting rid of them _is_ the civic improvement project. Besides, look at the rest of these people. She sticks out like a sore thumb."

He had a point. Though the band of volunteers was comprised of all ages, every last person was well-dressed and earnest, clearly dedicated to making Cokeworth a better place to live.

"Well," I sighed, "she was right about one thing. You'd never pick her out as an Auror."

Severus and I were sent about a quarter of a mile downriver to begin our rubbish collection. I began getting into the swing of things, and it was several minutes before I remembered why we were there. I glanced behind me and spotted Purple Shirt Man with his own bag, picking up an empty crisps container. Clare was nowhere in sight.

"He's behind us," I murmured to Severus.

Snape looked briefly around for Clare and grimaced when he didn't spot her. "Enough of this," he muttered, threw down his plastic bag, and strode back to confront the man. Purple Shirt's eyes widened for a brief moment.

"Excuse me," Severus said coldly, "but it seems that every time I turn around lately, there you are. I would like to know why."

The man recovered from his moment of surprise. "Don't know what you're talking about, mate," he said with a shrug of indifference. "I'm just here sprucing up the river, just like you and your lady friend."

"And how would you know she's my 'lady friend'?"

Recognition sparked briefly as Purple Shirt realized that he'd been rumbled.

"Just thought—probably—"

"You thought no such thing. Tell your friend Rita that she's going to have to come up with better than the likes of you," Severus snarled.

The man dropped his rubbish bag and fled. Clare came running up, her raggedy clothing flapping in the wind.

"Was that him?" she panted.

"Yes," Severus said, an expression of utter distaste on his face. "I told him to get lost."

Clare looked perplexed that the confrontation had been resolved that easily. I felt sorry for her.

"You got a good look at him, right, Clare?" I asked kindly.

"Yes, good enough. Do you think he was working for that Skeeter woman? I can run into the office right now and check my files…"

"Why not wait until Monday?" I suggested. "I don't think we'll be seeing him again before then."

"All right, I'll do that." Clare beamed. "Well, you two carry on with your work."

Severus and I watched her go. We both made noises about giving up on the clean-up project, but in the end, we continued to walk and fill our plastic bags, and talk about inconsequential things.

It was, I reflected later, a pleasant afternoon.

 _A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my lovely beta Toodleoo, , whose "Continuing Adventures of Severus Snape, Barista Extraordinaire' entertained me for a good eight months._

 _Also, 'BOLO' stands for 'Be on the Lookout', in case police dramas aren't your thing._


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter 9_**

The front page of Monday's _Daily Prophet_ was splashed with a new headline: 'THE RUMORS AREN'T RUBBISH: SNAPE AND GRANGER ARE IN LOVE'. Beneath, there were half a dozen photographs of Severus and myself from Saturday's clean-up of the Cokeworth river banks. The photos couldn't possibly be construed to indicate that Snape and I were anything other than friends, but still Rita had captioned them with flowery, suggestive language about our relationship. It was a weak attempt at best, I thought, but that didn't stop the arrival of fresh hate mail to my door.

It also prompted new letters from Grimmauld Place. This from Harry:

 _"_ _Why don't you just tell Skeeter that you lied to her about you and Snape? She won't stop, and you know it."_

Ron sounded testy.

" _Come on, Hermione, Snape's beginning to threaten my manhood. You're going out with me, not him. By the way, I've already apologized three times for the way I behaved that night. Cut me a break!"_

If it wasn't for Rita, life would have been much quieter. At least things had quieted down with the _TeenWitch Today_ hoopla. The September issue had hit the newsstands, and this time stories about Severus Snape, Sex God, were conspicuously absent. There were some glowing letters from the magazine's appreciative teen readers about the previous month's spread, however. Some twit had actually coined the word 'Snapalicious', and had the nerve to use it three times in one very short paragraph. It guaranteed that I would in no way be sharing that information with my neighbor.

Fewer women haunted Spinner's End now, but the ones that did still paused to gaze at the edifice of Number One as if hoping Snape would materialize right in front of them. From what I could tell, they were young women no longer in school, with the rare older female spotted on occasion. I boasted to Severus one evening that August's sensational teen mag story had, as I'd predicted, grown stale.

"I feel _so_ much better, Hermione," he said mockingly. "Not that it helps with Skeeter breathing down our necks, which is your fault entirely, as I recall. Don't think that just because one problem has gone away, you're absolved from carrying on with our agreement."

"Of course not."

The fact was, I had no intention of trying to get out of the bargain. I was enjoying the evenings spent helping Snape with his research tremendously. I loved finding out more about the theories and practices in the Dark Arts, knowing that the learning process was feeding my soul. Someday, I vowed, I would return to school.

Then there was the newfound, easy camaraderie between us, something that I would never have anticipated. I wondered if Snape would be surprised when I continued to show up on his doorstep long after the terms of the bargain had been met.

It occurred to me one day that I actually liked Snape's company more than almost anyone else's. That realization brought with it a pang of guilt; shouldn't I be making more time to enjoy my sort-of-fiancé's company as well? Ron was toiling away in London at his Auror job, working long hours, missing me. It was time I went back to Grimmauld Place and spent some quality time with my friends.

Ron and I exchanged a flurry of letters regarding his schedule and mine, finally deciding that I would come to London this coming Saturday for the day, with a longer visit planned for October. One evening after work, I made a hasty trip to the Burrow to ask Molly Weasley for her shepherd's pie recipe. I knew it was Ron's favorite, and I thought bringing food with me to Number Twelve would go a long way toward smoothing things over in our relationship.

"How are you, Hermione dear?" Molly, ever the protective mother hen, pulled me into a fierce hug. "We miss seeing you! You would think Cokeworth is on another planet, as long as you've been away. Can you stay for supper?"

"Sorry, but I really have to run," I said apologetically. "I'm been helping Severus with research for his book editing process. I've learned so much, you wouldn't believe it. I never realized how much I missed school until this project came along."

Molly looked pleased for me, but questions remained in her eyes.

"You call him 'Severus'?" she asked softly.

"Of course," I said, wondering why she had such an odd look on her face. "We've been on a first-name basis since—wait. You surely don't believe that load of tosh Rita Skeeter's been putting out, do you? Ron explained to you what happened, right?"

"Something about teenage girls following Professor Snape."

"Right. The whole romance story is a hoax, meant to convince the silly girls to stop pestering him." Funny, I thought, how six weeks ago when a girl was scaling my garden wall to catch a glimpse of Snape, the plan seemed to make perfect sense. Now it just felt juvenile and ridiculous.

"Then Rita's in on it, too?"

I blinked. "No, not at all."

"Then why not tell her the truth so she'll stop putting that rubbish in print?"

I managed a wry smile. "It's not that easy, Molly. The more we protest, the more she digs her heels in."

Molly brightened. "I know! If you and Ron were to announce your engagement, it would give Rita something new to write about!"

"But we're not officially engaged yet," I pointed out, a vague sense of panic settling in. Just what I needed: one more news story that didn't have a grain of truth in it.

"But I know you must be close," Molly persisted. "I'm sure Ron's thinking along those lines."

"Right," I said, feeling a bit dazed.

"I'd hoped that when George and Angelina were married last spring that it might spur you and Ron on a bit. And Harry and Ginny, for that matter." She clucked her tongue. " I know the world is different now and young people don't rush into marriage like they used to, but still, you and Ron have been together for years…"

Her persistent chatter was making me uneasy. I changed the subject by asking after George and Angelina and the joke shop.

Molly prattled on until I reminded her that I was a bit pressed for time. I quickly copied down the recipe, listened to all her cooking advice, and was on the verge of Disapparating when Molly reminded me of my upcoming birthday.

"We'll have the usual party here for you on the nineteenth, shall we, dear?"

"Of course," I agreed, and finally made my exit.

…..

"You'll be gone all weekend?" Snape glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.

I'd just announced my plans. Dusk had fallen and we were in our usual spot in his office, knee deep in the usual piles of texts, reference books, and parchments.

"No. I'm just going for the day on Saturday. Ron's off, and that should give us a decent block of time to do something fun." I put down a book entitled 'Defensive Curses: How to Come Close to an Avada Kedavra Without Actually Using It'. "Please tell me that you're not going to chain me to your desk. One little day off is not going to void our agreement."

"Of course not," he sniffed. "I just thought you were upset with Weasley."

"I was. I'm trying to make amends."

"That implies that you were the party at fault in your disagreement."

I'd briefly mentioned Ron's home invasion days earlier.

"What? No."

"Usually it's the guilty party who makes amends," he pointed out.

"Fine," I grumbled, "get nitpicky about it. The point is, it's hard to maintain a long-distance relationship. I'm going to London to reconnect."

"Reconnect?" Snape nearly hooted with laughter. The sound startled me. The man could actually laugh?

"What's wrong with that?"

"You sound like one of those oh-so-earnest young professionals we see at the Coffee Cartel. _Reconnect_ with your pretentious friends and colleagues? Check. Dress in the latest fashion? Check. Bring the most cutting edge periodicals to read while sipping the drink of the day? Check. Live in a near-slum to show your support for preserving buildings of the past? Check. Volunteer to save the town from the horrors of poverty and rusting industry? Check."

I started laughing myself. "You do have those types pegged, don't you?"

"I'd love to see them in ten years," Severus muttered, pushing one stack of parchment aside to search for another. "Will they still be here? Not likely. They'll be in a suburb somewhere, running children to sporting events and dance classes in their Land Rovers, consuming conspicuously like the rest of the world."

"You're such an optimist," I teased, seized by a sudden desire to fling my arms around the man and hug him.

It was an alarming thought, and it brought me up cold. I needed to concentrate on Ron.

…..

Fortune was smiling on me that Friday. Work was slow: I'd basically accomplished everything I needed to do by two o'clock. Clare had pulled out her knitting, Sondra was ensconced in the September issue of _TeenWitch Today_ , and Dex was killing time by telling everybody about the time he'd healed the Kenmare Kestrels' chaser of two broken legs, three fractured ribs, and a punctured lung in the midst of a raging thunderstorm. I gathered my crew around me.

"Would you all mind terribly if I left a bit early today? I'm going to see friends in London tomorrow, and I'm making a shepherd's pie to take with me. Since there's time, I thought perhaps I could make it this afternoon. I'm not much of a cook, you see. This way, if it doesn't turn out so well, I'll be able to have a second go at it."

No one minded, although I knew they were wishing I'd said something along the lines of, "Let's all take off early today!" Clare murmured her own cooking instructions to me all the way out the front door; I finally escaped and headed for the grocery.

I studied the ingredients list Molly Weasley gave me, wondering if I should buy double the amount just in case I needed to bin my first attempt. Molly had sworn that the recipe was practically foolproof, but I've learned—the hard way, of course— never to believe it when someone tells me that. I added the extras to my cart and headed for the checkout.

Surprisingly, shockingly, the shepherd's pie turned out perfectly the first time. It smelled wonderful and looked _almost_ like a picture in a cookery book. I risked a tiny bite and discovered that it tasted good as well. Who knew? There was hope for Hermione Granger in the kitchen! I danced around a bit, pleased with myself, and placed the dish in the refrigerator to be ready to go first thing in the morning.

And then I thought, why wait? Why not surprise Ron with dinner tonight? He'd be thrilled. Plus, I'd be able to stay the night, which would make him even happier. I threw some toiletries and a change of clothes into my beaded bag, bundled up my hot-dish masterpiece, and Disapparated to Number Twelve.

…..

"Harry! Perfect timing!" I cried. My friend had arrived on the doorstep just seconds after I did.

"Hi, you," he said, pulling me into a huge hug. "It's been forever!"

"I know, but it's taken a while learning the ropes at work. Plus, Severus is such a taskmaster with that editing project of his…"

"Oooh, Se-ver-us," Harry drawled, a goofy grin on his face. "'Sex Maniac of the Midlands', or something like that, isn't it?"

"Oh, hush," I grumbled, thrusting the shepherd's pie into his arms. "Here, take this, would you? And don't drop it!"

Harry's nose twitched. "Food? What is it? If I didn't know better, I'd say it smells like Molly's shepherd's pie."

"It is Molly's shepherd's pie, or at least that's what it's supposed to be. I'll have you know that _I_ made it, thank you very much. Worked bloody hard on it, too."

"You? Should I put it straight in the bin?"

"Ha, ha." I cast a wandless _Alohomora_ and the front door lock clicked; I shouldered my way in. "It looks good and it smells good, and it even tastes good, too. I wouldn't be too quick to throw it out, if I were you."

"We'll see. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow." Harry immediately angled into the dining room, pie in hand.

"I wasn't," I said, following behind. "But work was slow, and I was anxious to start the pie and see how it turned out, so that when it went horribly wrong as my recipes always do, I'd have time for a do-over. It actually worked the very first time. Molly would be proud of me."

Harry regarded me fondly. "Well done, Hermione."

"Tell me about it. Anyway, I didn't need to make a second pie, so I was going to put it in the fridge until tomorrow when I thought, 'Why not bring it tonight for supper?' Wait…" I frowned. "Ron _is_ coming home at a decent hour, right? He said something in his letter about working until eight or nine. That hasn't changed, has it? Don't tell me he's on some overnight stakeout."

Harry laughed as he settled the shepherd's pie in pride of place on the dining room table.

"No, last night was the overnight stakeout. They let him go home early this afternoon. He's probably upstairs, still sleeping it off. Although once he gets a whiff of this pie, he probably won't be asleep for long. He'll be thrilled to see you, Hermione. He's really missed you."

"I've missed him, too," I said, ignoring the fact that the words didn't slide out of my mouth as easily as they once had. "Maybe he's already awake. I'll pop up and check."

I ran lightly up the steps. One flight. Two.

And then I heard the voices, one male, one female. The moans of passion. The rhythmic thumping of the bed springs.

I stood on the landing, my heart in my throat. This couldn't be. It really couldn't be Ron. Someone else had gotten into the house. It must be—what?

More groans. Definitely Ron's. Then hers, whoever she was.

I stumbled back downstairs to the dining room. Harry had a bite of shepherd's pie on a fork, halfway to his mouth.

"That was fast. What, he's not there?"

I had to remind myself to breathe. "Harry," I said, my voice unnaturally calm, "would you please go upstairs and find out who Ron's shagging in my bedroom?"

A look of horror crossed Harry's face. "What?"

"You heard me."

He threw the fork down and bolted for the stairs. Shortly after, I heard Harry fling open the bedroom door; there was a yelp—Ron's—and a female shriek.

"Damn it to hell, Ron! What do you think you're doing?"

"Harry! What the hell do you think _you're_ doing?"

"You arse! You complete and utter arse! Hermione's downstairs!"

"WHAT?! "

I heard a _pop_ as the female in question evidently Disapparated from the scene of the crime. There was more shouting.

I sank weakly down onto one of the dining room chairs, my mind reeling. How could this be? Ron Weasley, the boy I'd fancied for all those years. My boyfriend of the past four years. The man I'd discussed marriage with, even the possibility of future children. I wanted to cry, to scream, while at the same time I told myself that I would do no such thing. I would _not_ be a hysterical female, dissolving into tears. By the time Harry came thundering back down the stairs, my bewilderment was quickly morphing into something else.

"Hermione…" Harry looked downright sick. "I am so, so sorry. Ron'll be down in a minute. He's—uh—"

"Putting his clothes back on?" I spat, my voice laced with venom.

"Er, yeah."

"Did you know this was going on?" I demanded.

"I swear, Hermione, I had absolutely _no_ idea. None. Look, let me find Kreacher to make you some tea."

"Who was it, Harry?" I asked as he headed off to the kitchen. "Who was she?"

Harry looked like he'd rather face Voldemort War Three than the debacle brewing in his dining room.

"Lavender Brown," he said sadly.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter 10_**

I sat in Coffee Cartel at just past six on Saturday morning, sipping my cortado and trying to pretend that things were perfectly normal. I hadn't slept well, needless to say; I'd awakened around four and tossed and turned until finally opting for caffeine over sleep.

I wasn't surprised when I saw Severus walk in. He, however, was rather startled to see me there.

"Getting a late start? I would have thought you'd be in London by now," he said, walking over to my table. It gave him a much better view of my disheveled hair and the bags under my eyes. "Problems?"

"You might say so."

"May I get my drink before you relate the whole grisly tale?"

"Of course."

Snape went off to stand in line to order while I debated what to tell him. I knew he would not be interested in listening to me bemoan the details of my shattered relationship with Ron; I was sure that as head of house, he'd heard similar stories from too many hysterical Slytherins to have the patience for one more. Certainly he didn't want to hear it from a Gryffindor. By the time he returned to the table with his coffee, I'd already shrunk last night's events into a tidy little package.

"Here." Severus placed a chocolate almond croissant on the table and pushed it in my direction. "When did you eat last?"

"Yesterday morning," I admitted, and tugged the croissant a little closer. "Split it with me?"

He nodded and reached for a knife. "Was the shepherd's pie that bad?"

I snorted. "The pie was perfect, actually. I may have to stop claiming I can't cook."

"Then…?"

"In a nutshell, I got there early and found Ron screwing Lavender Brown in my bed."

Snape paused to digest that, knife partway through the croissant.

"And an altercation followed, I would imagine?"

"You imagine right. We had a rather tense discussion. " 'Tense' was an understatement. There had been a lot of yelling on my part and a lot of accusations on Ron's part.

 _"_ _How do you think I feel, Hermione?" he'd demanded hotly. "You went off to Cokeworth for this job and now you don't have time for me anymore! Instead, you're playing footsies with Snape and feeding stories to Rita Skeeter about how you two are in love!"_

 _"_ _I am not playing 'footsies' with Snape!" I seethed. "I'm working with Professor Snape on his project. Working! And I told you all about the gossip stories!"_

"Was Potter aware that Weasley was cheating on you?" Severus asked now, looking quite ready to begin hating Harry all over again.

"No." I shook my head. "Harry was horrified. He had no idea. Apparently Ron has been seeing Lavender for a couple of weeks weeks now, and keeping it pretty well hushed up."

"How have you left things hanging between you and Weasley?" Snape picked up his half of the croissant and took a small bite.

"We're done," I said simply. "This is the third time in four years we've broken up, and I think I've finally got the message that we're not meant to be together. I'm not even sure we can be friends anymore after this."

"How are you feeling this morning? You look rather done in."

"That's putting it politely. Physically, I feel like crap because I barely slept. That's what happens when you spend the night throwing things and thinking up inventive ways to curse your former lover. At least I can't claim anything as sappily melodramatic as crying myself to sleep. I was too bloody angry."

"What did you do to your hand?" Snape eyed my right hand, which I'd bandaged rather clumsily. "Don't tell me you beat Weasley to a pulp."

I broke into a sly smile. "Not quite. But I clocked him!"

Severus nearly dropped his croissant. "You didn't!"

"I did, and it felt wonderful. Until the pain hit, of course."

Bemused, Snape stared at me as though seeing me for the first time. "What did Potter have to say about that?"

"I think he was glad that I saved him the trouble, frankly." I paused, glancing at my puffy hand. I'd tried to bandage it, but multiple attempts using my wand left-handed hadn't worked out so well. The wrap looked like it had been applied by a three year old. "If it's not too much trouble, could I ask you to wrap it properly sometime this morning? The clinic's not open on weekends, and Dex is likely headed off to a Quidditch match somewhere. I imagine you had a lot of practice patching up your Slytherins throughout the years."

Severus smirked. "You think so, do you? I wouldn't touch them. I sent them all straight to Poppy."

…..

We left the Coffee Cartel and walked back to Snape's house. He went off to collect the necessary items from the bathroom while I sat on his Chesterfield sofa and unwrapped my bandage. The hand was bruising already; it would definitely take a while for all the lovely colors to fade. Severus returned several minutes later, an assortment of bottles and jars in his hands.

"This should take care of most everything," he muttered. He looked at my unbandaged hand and grimaced. "Lovely. I hope Weasley's face looks worse than your hand."

I couldn't help but smile. Severus continued.

"Tell me, were the rumors true, then? Did you really punch Draco Malfoy in the nose one time?"

"I did," I said proudly.

"Well done, Hermione. I suspect his ego was mangled for quite a while." Snape held my hand carefully, examining it from several angles. "You checked for broken bones, correct?"

"Yes." Waving my wand in a diagnostic pattern was the first thing I'd done when I returned from London. "I'd have gone to St. Mungo's if there were any."

Severus performed a few checks of his own. "It's not that I doubt your abilities, but sometimes the swelling can affect your findings."

I nodded, pleased that he'd given me credit for that. "Between Harry and Ron and myself, I had quite a few occasions to do some healing work that year we were on the run."

"It's fortunate that Potter had you as a friend. I shudder to think where we'd be if you weren't there to keep him pointed in the right direction."

Compliments from Severus Snape, the teacher who looked down his nose at me for six long years? It made me ridiculously happy, as if my existence had finally been validated.

"Not that it was an easy task," I pointed out with a wry smile.

Snape uncorked one bottle and dispensed a dollop of what I recognized as a wound-healing potion. He spread it carefully over the reddened areas on the joints of my hand.

"But I didn't break the skin," I began.

"I know, but it will still penetrate a bit and speed up the healing process."

As the potion created a cooling sensation throughout my hand, Severus recapped the bottle and reached for the jar. He scooped out a generous measure of bruise-healing paste, rubbed his hands together, and then took my hand in his. The cooling sensation began to fade as he rubbed the warmed paste into my skin with feather-light strokes. The pain began to ease immediately.

I had used the paste many times before, but it had never felt as deliciously wonderful as this. My first instinct had always been to throw the ointment on and rub it in as vigorously as possible. This was so much more subtle, like a very decadent massage. I closed my eyes and sighed audibly.

"Enjoying it, are we?" Snape asked in amusement.

"I've never spread it on like that before," I murmured, eyelids still drooping.

"Most people don't. Poppy taught me this technique, actually."

I thought of how Snape had often been targeted by the Marauders at school, and how he'd likely found it necessary to visit the Hogwarts Matron on a regular basis. It just wasn't fair, really, the way the bullying had been allowed to go on…

"Hermione."

My eyes snapped open. I realized with horror that I'd drifted off.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Please tell me I haven't been sitting here snoring for ten minutes!"

"Thirty seconds, more like," Severus said drily, conjuring a bandage with his wand. He wrapped it carefully around my hand in a figure eight and secured it. "How does that feel? Snug but not tight?"

"It's perfect. Thank you," I said, holding up my hand and flexing my fingers. When I looked up, I found Snape regarding me with something akin to respect. The dark eyes that I'd often thought cold and threatening, were warm and… inviting?

"Perhaps you should try to get some more sleep today."

"A nap certainly wouldn't go amiss." I climbed to my feet. "Look, Severus, I know it was wrong of me to involve myself in your life without being asked…"

"I think of you as a friend, Hermione," he said quietly. "Is that what you're trying to say?"

It was, but I wanted to ask questions. To learn more. I finally decided that I should stop before I put my foot into my mouth and bit down hard.

"It is. And thank you again." I made my exit.

…..

I decided to use my ruined Saturday for productive purposes. I scanned the To Let section of the _Cokeworth Courier_ and found several flats that sounded promising; I called the landlords and made arrangements to visit them the next day. Part of me wanted to invite Snape to go along, thinking that he would probably have something constructive to say about the properties; the other part of me strongly advised that I leave well enough alone. Severus Snape and I were friends, and there was no way I intended to push the relationship too far.

Meanwhile, I received a message from Harry, wondering if he could stop by that evening. He knocked on my door at just past eight. I answered it with some trepidation; surely Harry wouldn't be foolish enough to bring Ron along for some sort of ill thought-out intervention. I discovered that I needn't have worried.

"Hi," Harry said simply, and tugged me into his arms.

I sank into him, relieved. "Thank goodness. For a moment, I was afraid—"

"—that Ron was lurking in the bushes?" Harry laughed. "I wouldn't do that to you, Hermione."

"I know. I don't know what I was thinking. Come on in." I led the way inside and Harry shut the door behind him.

"Isn't your rental agreement with that guy about up?" he inquired.

"End of the month. I just looked through the property ads today, and tomorrow I'll check them out in person." I took the director's chair while Harry plopped down on the lumpy green sofa.

"So," he said, and the elephant in the room appeared. "How are you doing?"

"Better than I would have imagined."

"You don't look too bad."

"I haven't spent night and day crying my eyes out, if that's what you were thinking."

Harry gestured toward my bandaged hand. "How's the hand?"

"It'll be fine. Severus tended to it this morning. I tried to do it myself, but I was working with my left hand and I just couldn't quite manage it. How's Ron's eye?"

"You gave him a real shiner," Harry said, unable to avoid a lopsided grin.

"Did I? Good," I said, pleased. "He deserved it, you know."

"I know. I still can't believe he did that. I told him this morning to find another place to live."

"Really?"

"It's _my_ house, Hermione. It was always the three of us and Ginny; I don't want him bringing Lavender there."

I was touched. "Wow, Harry, that's… Thank you. What do you think he'll do?"

"I don't know. Probably move into the flat over George's shop now that he and Angelina have set up house."

"But… you and Ron… I don't want your friendship destroyed because of me. Are you still…?"

"Are we still friends, d'you mean?" Harry got up, shoved his hands into his pockets, and paced over to the window to look out into the night. "Yeah, I suppose. But what he did was wrong, and I'm furious that he hurt you that way."

"Does anyone else know? Ginny, or the rest of his family?"

"Not unless he's told them. I suppose he'd just say that the two of you decided that things weren't working out and you broke up. I don't intend to provide the gory details."

"I'm certainly not going to tell them either," I said. "I don't want to destroy Ron. I _did_ love him. I _do_ love him, but I don't want to be in that sort of relationship anymore."

Harry nodded. "I guess it would have been too perfect if it all had worked out, wouldn't it? We survive the war, I'm with Ginny and you're with Ron and we all live happily ever after?"

"Too perfect," I agreed sadly.

"Say… would you like to find a pub and grab a pint?"

"I'd love it, Harry."

…..

The following day, I discovered that Rita Skeeter must have been absolutely beside herself with glee. Not only was there a picture on the front page of the _Prophet_ , showing Harry embracing me at my door, but a headline that read: 'SNAPE OUT, POTTER IN? GRANGER'S VERY BUSY SEX LIFE'.

In London, Harry hit the ceiling and decided it was time to cash in chips and use his very considerable influence in any way he could. By evening, the Wizengamot had issued a restraining order against Rita Skeeter, prohibiting her from photographing or printing anything about Harry, Severus, or myself for a period of six months.

Finally, life might approach something near normal.

 _A/N: Back in the lovely days when canon was incomplete and speculation abounded, there was always a lot of chatter about what characters ended up with what partners. The most prominent(and obvious) theory was OBHWF, or 'One Big Happy Weasley Family', where Ron and Hermione were paired and Harry and Ginny ended up together. Needless to say, that's the way things ended up. Many, however, were hoping for something different and not so predictable. Like Severus and Hermione…_


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter 11_**

After war's end, when Harry and I had returned home from restoring my parents' memory in Australia, Molly Weasley had seen fit to throw me a birthday party. She knew I was hurting from my parents' angry reaction when they'd learned what I'd done to them, knew that my birthday might not be cause for celebration that year. She had pulled out all the stops, evidently thinking that enough merriment could make the pain go away.

My parents had eventually chosen to remain in Australia, and limited their communication with me to a card at Christmas and one on my birthday. I sent them cards on their birthdays, jotting down general news about what I was up to and signing them 'Love, Hermione'. Their cards to me were always signed, 'Your Mum and Dad'; any additional comments, other than 'Best Wishes', were rare. I'd come to accept the way things were, even though it remained painful.

As a result, the Weasley birthday party became an annual event. Molly was determined to see that a mother and father acknowledged my special day, even if said parents were not my own. The parties might not be as elaborate as that first one, but I still appreciated the sentiment.

This year, however, I was tempted to ask Molly to call it off. I learned through Harry that the family had been told that Ron and I were no longer together, which would make the party a tad awkward. I knew Molly had to be disappointed that I was no longer her potential daughter-in-law, and I prayed that she wouldn't take it upon herself to pry or attempt to repair the broken romance. While she would pull together the party with her usual panache, it still had the makings of an uncomfortable gathering of Weasleys.

Harry rallied my spirits.

"You didn't break up with the Weasley family," he reminded me when I voiced my concerns. "They love you, Hermione."

Of course they did. And I was a Gryffindor bristling with courage, after all. Still, when Harry offered to Side-Along with me to the Burrow, I didn't say no.

"Hey, Harry. Hermione!" George met us the door. "Happy birthday, love. Glad to see you finally wised up and ditched the toerag known as my little brother."

I managed a nervous laugh, glancing at Harry for reassurance that the facts behind the break-up remained a secret. Harry just smiled and nodded his head encouragingly.

Once I made it into the house, however, I discovered that I needn't have worried. Everyone was delighted to see me; certainly the mood would have been much darker if they'd known the truth.

"Hermione!" Arthur hugged me in greeting. He'd taken up Muggle barbecuing the previous year, which was fine, but he'd also assumed that it entailed more than simply standing over a hot grill. He now sported an apron which proclaimed 'CAUTION: EXTREMELY HOT', along with a chef's hat reading 'ALL THE GRILLS LOVE ME'.

"Nice apron, Arthur," I teased.

"Isn't it though? Found it at a flea market in the village. Had to get a hat as well, you know. Have to be prepared for working over an open flame."

I wanted to point out that children were successfully working over open flames in their Potions classes without any protective garments, but I refrained.

"Well, I'm sure dinner will be delicious," I assured him.

Molly had set up a table outside, and eight of us gathered around it. Besides George and his wife Angelina, only Percy and Penelope were there; Fleur was close to delivering her second child, so she and Bill had stayed home. Molly was accustomed to cooking enough food for an army, so it wasn't surprising that the long table groaned with tasty dishes. Arthur was no less generous with the meat, cooked to somewhat less than perfection. He definitely took the 'char' in charcoal grilling to heart.

By the time the birthday cake was served and "Happy Birthday" was sung, we were all stuffed to the gills. Harry was right, I thought; the Weasleys loved me and I loved them, and nothing Ron had done could ever change that.

As the evening wound down, I helped Molly clear the table while the rest of the group sat in the waning light and chatted.

"Any birthday greetings from your parents yet?" she asked hopefully, maneuvering a load of dirty dishes indoors with her wand.

I placed the remains of the largely decimated cake on the kitchen counter. "No, not yet. I'm sure a card will turn up in a day or two."

"Hmm," she said, which I took to mean disapproval of the way my parents were treating me.

"Molly, would it be all right if I took a piece of cake back to Severus? He and I are friends now, and I'd like to share some with him."

"Of course, dear." If the woman seemed surprised by the request, she didn't show it. "I'm going to get another armful of dishes from outside. Why don't you cut him off a slice and wrap it? I'll be right back."

I had just made the first cut with the knife when there was a faint knock at the door. I'd spent enough time at the Burrow over the years to have no hesitation whatsoever about going to open it myself.

I froze.

"Hullo, Hermione." Ron stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"What are you doing here?" I said stiffly, fighting the urge to slam the door in his face. I did notice, with no small amount of satisfaction, that the area around his eye was still a rather unpleasant shade of yellow.

"I'm not staying," he said quickly. "Don't tell the others I'm out here. It's just that I wanted to talk with you for a minute. Really. Just a minute, and I'll be out of your hair."

"Here?" Surely he didn't mean for the two of us to stand in his mother's kitchen and have it out again.

"No, of course not. Down by the orchard, maybe?" He jerked his head in that direction.

I wanted to say something along the lines of "This is my birthday party and you can just sod off", but I didn't.

"Please," Ron insisted.

"Fine," I muttered.

He headed off towards the orchard and I trailed behind, giving a quick glance over my shoulder. The Weasleys and Harry were all sitting outdoors on the far side of the house, so no one had seen us leave. Besides, twilight was deepening and we weren't highly visible anyway. Ron finally came to a halt. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

"I—er—wanted to apologize, Hermione. We did a lot of yelling the other night, and it was ugly, and I'm sorry."

"Sorry for the yelling or sorry that you took another woman to my bed?" I demanded icily.

"Look." He scratched his head. "I know this is a crap apology and you probably don't even want to hear it, but I mean it when I say I'm very, very sorry, Hermione. I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did." Ron was right, I thought. I didn't want to hear it.

"Can I just explain? I knew what I was doing wasn't right, but I was mad at you for kicking me out of your place that night. The next day I ran into Lav in Diagon Alley, and—well—one thing led to another. It was stupid, but I did it. I made a terrible mistake."

"You think?" I snapped.

Ron hesitated, his head drooping. "If it's any consolation, I've told Lavender that I'm not going to see her anymore."

My blood began to boil. "If you think, Ronald Weasley, that that makes everything all right and we're going to get back together, you can put that out of your head right this minute! If nothing else, this has made me finally realize that the two of us together just doesn't work!"

"I'm not asking you to get back together, Hermione. You're right. It's better if we don't. We'd probably kill each other eventually."

His words sank into a pool of silence. Ron was eyeing the ground morosely.

Finally, I spoke. "What do you want, Ron? Do you want me to forgive you? I don't know that I can do that right now. Someday, maybe. But not tonight. It's still too fresh."

"Yeah. I don't deserve it even someday, let alone on your birthday. Maybe… maybe at some point we can be friends again?" He looked up hopefully. "We've been friends over half our lives, you know?"

"I know." For the first time in days, I felt like crying.

"I—um—brought you a birthday present," Ron said, fishing in his pocket.

"No. Don't. You don't have to do that."

"I know, but I always give you a present on your birthday." With that, he pulled out a small box with a bow on it.

The sight of it gave me a start. It looked the sort of box in which one might find an engagement ring. I'd always envisioned opening a box like that from Ron, but not under these circumstances.

"What is it?" I asked, wary.

"Open it. It's not fancy or anything, but I thought you might appreciate it."

I unwrapped the box and lifted the top with no small amount of trepidation. Inside I found…

…a chunk of mouthwatering dark chocolate.

"It's imported. From Switzerland," Ron added helpfully. "It's silly, I know, but I thought, well, women always like chocolates, and it might make you feel better."

I couldn't help it; I burst into laughter. "It was a lovely thought, Ron. Thank you."

Of course. Ron Weasley, always thinking about food.

…..

I rapped lightly on Severus Snape's door. As far as I knew, I was the only person allowed to do that; other mortals were kept at arms' length by his wards, and I felt just a tiny bit proud of the fact. It was actually a matter of practicality. It meant that I didn't have to send a Patronus every evening, asking permission to Apparate over to help with the research.

"Party over, I take it?" he asked simply when he saw me standing there.

"Yes. I lived."

He motioned me inside.

"I saved you a slice of the cake," I said, holding out the piece of birthday cake to him.

"Thank you," he said, Summoning a plate and fork from the kitchen, he dispensed with the wrapping around the cake. "Molly made this?"

"Yes, why?"

"Sometimes she made food for meetings of the Order. She's a good cook," Severus commented. "Do you mind if I eat it now? I didn't have supper."

"Of course not. I wish I'd known. I could probably have supplied the two of us with leftovers for days. You know how much food Molly makes."

"This will do. I spent the evening wrestling with Offensive Spells and the time got away from me." He settled into the wing chair and began to eat. I sat on the sofa, legs curled beneath me.

"So," he said, "how did it go?"

"It was just as Harry predicted. Everyone was very kind and no one knew the sordid details. Except…"

"Except?"

"Ron showed up at the end of the evening," I sighed.

"That took some nerve," Severus muttered through a mouthful of cake. "What happened? Should I be inspecting your hand for damage again?"

"No, it was all right. He came to the door and asked if we could talk for a few minutes. Everyone else was outside and they didn't even knew he was there. Anyway, he apologized over and over."

"I should hope so."

"He said that if it was any consolation, he wasn't going to see Lavender anymore."

Snape set the cake plate down heavily on the arm of the chair and leaned forward. He spoke deliberately, coldly.

"Do not tell me that you are going back to him."

It was the Severus Snape of years past. The angry curl of his lip, the slowed pronunciation of every word, the dark eyes shooting knives in my direction. It put me at a brief loss for words. "What? No. No, of course not. I can't forgive him. Not now, anyway. I told him I wasn't sure if I ever could."

Severus eased back in the chair, looking somewhat appeased by my words.

"He _would_ like us to be friends again," I continued, "and I suppose at some point I might manage that. Maybe. It's so sad, Severus. As Ron pointed out, we've been friends over half our lives. I hate to lose that. Good, long-lasting friendships are rare, and you shouldn't just throw them away."

"Like I did?" Snape asked wryly.

I stared at him blankly for a moment, and then it hit me: Lily Evans _._ I cursed myself for not thinking before I spoke.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply—"

"Of course you didn't. Don't apologize, Hermione. You're right. True friendships are a precious commodity. Certainly don't make the same mistake I did. Tread carefully."


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter 12_**

The new flat was situated a mile and a half from Spinner's End. The neighborhood was quiet and peaceful, it was closer to work, and there was a prettier view from my bedroom window. On the downside, it was a mile and a half from Severus Snape and Coffee Cartel. Not that it made that much difference; I was still spending my time off assisting with the research, and we continued to meet weekend mornings at the coffee shop.

Severus showed up at my door the day I moved in.

"At least the furnishings are better," he remarked, eyeing the bland beige sofa and easy chair in the living room. "Although I shall miss the wobbly director's chair that threatened to fall apart every time I looked at it."

"Not to mention the ghastly lumpy sofa," I added.

"I brought you a housewarming and belated birthday present," he said, removing a gift box from a brown grocery sack.

"That's awfully sweet of you," I said, and immediately cursed my choice of words. Snape was looking distinctly sour at the thought that he could be thought of as anything remotely close to 'sweet'. "Sorry. Let me rephrase that. It was very _thoughtful_ of you."

He seemed somewhat appeased.

"You're trying to dismantle my evil persona, aren't you, Hermione Granger?"

"Your evil persona's been dismantling itself for four and a half years now," I teased, tearing into the wrapping paper.

"Hmpf," he grunted.

"Wine glasses!" I cried as the present revealed itself. "Perfect. Thank you so much! I haven't even checked the cupboards yet to see what this flat has in the way of tableware. Now all we need is some wine."

Snape reached into the grocery bag once more and pulled out a bottle. "The Cabernet you like so much. I trust this will meet with your approval?"

"Absolutely." Not only had he brought wine, he'd brought the very wine he knew I enjoyed. I was even more impressed. Or, a little voice piped in, he just took the easy way out, not bothering to shop for something different.

I ignored the little voice and took the wine glasses to the kitchen to unbox them and rinse them out. Meanwhile, Severus went about carefully casting a chilling charm on the bottle.

"You do realize," he said quietly, "that our agreement ended three days ago, don't you?"

I knew. Today was the third day of October. I'd been wondering when this conversation would take place.

"Does that mean you don't want my help with the research anymore?" I asked, forcing a light tone into my voice. I didn't want an end to the evenings and weekends surrounded by books and parchment and Severus Snape. I loved the interesting reading, the mental exercise of it all. And I loved the oddly pleasurable friendship we shared.

"I don't mean to inconvenience you if you're not interested in helping me any longer," Severus said, with the air of a man choosing his words very precisely.

I glanced in his direction. He was clearly avoiding my gaze. "I've enjoyed it immensely. Continuing wouldn't be a bother, unless you're tired of having me underfoot so often."

"If you want to continue, that would be satisfactory," Snape hedged, tapping the cork of the wine bottle with his wand. It popped off neatly, flying about a foot into the air and landing in his outstretched hand.

Satisfactory? I groaned inwardly. Would it kill the man to admit that he'd enjoyed my presence over the past six weeks? Certainly Snape would have thrown me out on my ear weeks earlier if he couldn't abide the sight of me. He could have simply filled my arms with periodicals to research and sent me packing with instructions to report back on anything I'd learned.

"More than satisfactory. It wasn't much of a punishment for me, as you well know," I pointed out as I placed two of the wine glasses on the counter. Severus poured.

"You were born to be a scholar, Hermione," he said, handing me one glass and lifting the other. "Here's to knowledge."

"And our continued partnership," I added.

There was just the faintest hint of color in his cheeks.

….

The nineteenth of October was my father's birthday, falling exactly one month after my own. It wasn't until I was in a shop, buying a card for him, that I realized I still hadn't received _my_ birthday card from him and Mum.

My heart sank. It was bad enough that we communicated through greeting cards a few times a year. Now they'd forgotten about me entirely? The thought reminded me of the ugly fact that I was the one who had gone out of my way to make them forget me in the first place. I signed the card 'Love, Hermione', addressed it to Dad, and posted it.

Work was pleasantly quiet. I spent most of my time assisting clients through tangles of Ministry red tape and writing summaries of local news to be added to the Monthly Updates sent from London. My staff was performing well: Sondra had cut way back on her gum chewing, Clare dealt competently with a handful of petty offenses, and Dex saw to the usual assortment of minor illnesses and injuries in the clinic.

I called an after-hours meeting one day in early November and assured my staff that it wouldn't last long, as I was just as eager to leave for home as they were. At the close of the meeting, I made an announcement.

"There's one more thing. I want you all—well, you, Dex and Sondra—to be aware of something; Clare already knows about it. Back in August, when there was such a frenzy about Professor Snape, I spread the rumor that he and I were involved. It was an attempt to keep his very ardent and pushy admirers at bay, which was as much for my benefit as his, being as I was living right next door at the time. I thought that if the public believed that he was already in a romantic relationship, then the excitement would die down. Thankfully, it has. And thanks to the direct intervention of a friend of mine, Rita Skeeter of the _Daily Prophet_ has been temporarily muzzled, and that's also helped calm the waters."

"It was Harry Potter," I heard Clare whisper loudly to Sondra.

Sondra looked impressed.

Dex looked bored.

"So Professor Snape's available?" Sondra piped up hopefully.

I didn't particularly want to answer that question, I discovered. I did anyway.

"Yes," I said, and when Sondra squealed aloud, I was quick to add, "but that doesn't mean you should spread the news around. And I don't think he'll be wanting to hear from you, either."

"Oh, I promise, Hermione," she said firmly.

I didn't believe it for a second, but I let it pass.

"Ha! I figured you had better sense than to get involved with that guy." Dex wore a smug expression on his face. "He may be a war hero and all, but he's still just a bitter old curmudgeon, isn't he?"

I was momentarily stunned by the characterization. "Not really. He can be quite engaging."

"Right."

I declared the meeting over, and we all began to gather up coats and belongings. Clare cornered me as I was putting on my coat.

"So no more stalkers hanging about?" she asked, looking pleased.

"Severus hasn't mentioned it," I told her, "but since I'm not living next door to him anymore, I can't swear to it firsthand."

"Of course."

"How's Gavin, by the way?"

"Just splendid, thanks for asking. He's proposed to his girlfriend, you know."

"Really? I know he said he wanted to propose when he returned to town. Brenda, right? Did she say yes?"

"She did, although she says she won't marry him until he finishes fixing up that house of his," Clare confided with a grin.

I laughed. "I can't say that I blame her. The poor girl needs a real closet to hang her clothes in, if nothing else. Not to mention real curtains."

At home, I quickly changed out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable. I was meeting Severus at the pub near his house, and then we would be starting work on the Defensive Spells section of the Klingbeek text. First though, I rifled through the day's post.

There was the usual assortment of unsolicited mail, but tucked in the back was a card. Was this finally the birthday card from my parents? But then I recognized the handwriting on the front of the envelope as my own.

It was the birthday card I'd sent to my father. Stamped across the envelope were the words RETURN TO SENDER, ADDRESS UNKNOWN.

My parents had moved and hadn't even left a forwarding address.

…..

I sent a message to Clare the next morning, telling her that I would be late. Then I Apparated to the Ministry in London and headed straight for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Hermione!" Harry looked up from his desk in surprise. "What are you doing here? I didn't know you were going to be in town today."

"I'm just here to see you," I said.

"Oh yeah? What's up?"

"I was wondering, Harry. Do you know any Aurors in Australia?"

"Sort of. I met one or two when they came here to deliver an extradited prisoner last spring. Why?"

"Do you think one of them might be willing to track down a missing pair of Muggle parents, kind of 'off the clock', so to speak?"

Harry stared at me. "Your parents are missing? What do you mean?"

"I sent the usual birthday card to Dad and it came back to me, marked 'return to sender, address unknown'."

"Are you sure you put the right address on it?"

"Of course I did," I said impatiently. "Do you think I wouldn't have checked that first?"

"Sorry, of course you did."

"And they didn't leave—"

"—a forwarding address, no. Makes one feel really wanted, doesn't it?" My lower lip quivered; I bit it hard.

The deeper implication set in. Harry looked appalled. " _Oh_. Wow. Hermione, you don't think that they deliberately—"

"I—I don't—know what to think." My voice threatened to give way completely.

Harry hastily dragged a stack of rolled parchments off the only other chair in the small space, and tossed them on the floor.

"Here. Sit down."

I sat, dabbing at my eyes with the tissue Harry quickly conjured for me.

"Look," he said after a moment or two, "it's the Muggle post, right? You know stuff goes missing all the time. I wouldn't just assume that they moved and didn't want you to know about it. What if… What if they're moving back here? To Britain?"

"That's what Severus thought when I told him about it last night." For one wildly happy moment, I had been relieved and elated, but I still couldn't come up with a reason they wouldn't have shared the news with me. As a result, it had not been a productive evening. I was distracted and worried, and had finally excused myself early.

"Maybe they want to surprise you," Harry offered, apparently at as much of a loss as I was.

"Maybe…" It was possible, I thought. I really, _really_ , wanted to believe him.

"Tell you what: I'll look up the contact information for the Aussies and see what I can do. Can you give me your parents' address?"

I pulled open my satchel and pulled out the returned birthday card.

"Here. Let me know if they're willing to help? I suppose I could hire a Muggle private investigator, if need be."

Harry stared down at the envelope as if willing it to divulge its secrets. Or he might have been looking at what were obviously several dried tearstains.

"Can I tell Ron?" he asked. "I won't if you tell me not to, but I'm sure he'd like to know what's going on."

I nodded.

...

Later that day, I received a message from Harry. He'd been in contact with one of the Australian Aurors, who had promised to look into my parents' whereabouts. It was all I could do for the time being.

 _A/N: Shorter chapter this time, but angst warning ahead!_


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter 13_**

 _A/N: This was not an easy chapter to write, nor is it pleasant to read. I'm sorry._

 _LEMCOA = Law Enforcement of the Magical Community of Australia_

That Friday evening in late November evening was cold and dark; a heavy drizzle was falling, adding to the general gloom.

The weather had been slightly better in London when I'd met Harry for dinner. He was leaving in the morning on a two-week mission to Albania, where an escaped Death Eater was reputed to be hiding. First, however, there was something he wanted to show me. Over dessert he pulled a small velvet bag from his pocket and held up the diamond ring he intended to give Ginny for Christmas.

"It's gorgeous, Harry," I said, pleased for my friend. "Is she expecting this, or will it be a surprise?"

"A surprise, I hope," he grinned. "Which means…"

"My lips are sealed," I promised.

I _was_ pleased for him, of course. Harry and Ginny were meant to be together. Still, I felt just the tiniest twinge of regret. With the two of them engaged and Ron no longer playing such a large role, it was clear that our lives changing.

Back at my flat in Cokeworth, I switched from dressy to casual clothes and wondered what the changes would mean for me. Six months from now would be the five-year anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, and with it, the inevitable retrospection. What, exactly, did I want for the next five years?

I batted the idea around for a few minutes, finally deciding that it required far too much thought just now. It was Friday night, the work week was over, and in the morning, I would meet Severus at Coffee Cartel. With relaxation in mind, I gathered up the day's post.

I spotted the envelope at once, the return address in Australia being a dead giveaway. Finally, there was news from Harry's Auror acquaintance. Eagerly, I ripped it open and pulled out the contents. When a newspaper clipping fell to the floor, I was filled with an immediate sense of dread. Trembling, I picked it up.

The headline said it all: _LOCAL COUPLE KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT._

The words wavered in front of me and I cried out, dropping to the floor as my legs gave way. Willing myself to read the rest, I gripped the clipping so hard it nearly tore in two.

 _'_ _Two people were killed Saturday morning when their vehicle slid off a rain-slicked road. The dead are identified as Wendell Wilkins, age 54, and Monica Wilkins, age 53. Officials declined to speculate on whether the vehicle had been traveling at an unsafe speed at the time of the accident.'_

Three sentences. My parents' lives had been summed up in three sentences.

I felt blindly for the letter that came with the clipping.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. I thought about sending this to Harry, thinking that perhaps he should be the one to break it to you, but apparently you had said you wanted the results of my search sent directly to you._

 _The news story was printed in the Muggle press on the eighth of July, which must mean they died on the seventh. As for the returned mail you received: when I began searching for your parents I learned that they had moved from a house on Larkspur Court to a new home on Charlton Lane last February. The time limit for the Muggle post being forwarded to a new address had already run out._

 _You may want to contact the authorities to regarding the disposition of their bodies, as well as their household. I've enclosed phone numbers for the Muggle police below that may be of help to you._

 _With sincere regret,_

 _Simon Waters, Auror, LEMCOA_

I wanted to cry, but I seemed to be cloaked in a numbness that prohibited any expression. One thing I knew for certain was that I didn't want to be alone. Apparating was out of the question; I didn't see how I could manage without splinching myself. Trembling, I struggled to my feet, found my coat, and headed for Spinner's End.

The heavy drizzle had worsened. By the time I pounded on Snape's door a mile and a half later, I was wet and cold and felt like I couldn't take another step.

"Hermione?"

My teeth chattered as I forced out the words. "May I c-come in?"

"Of course." Severus frowned. "You're soaked. Did you walk here?"

"I couldn't Apparate. I thought—I thought I'd splinch—"

By that time, he sussed out that something was amiss. Snape steered me inside; I felt the whisper of magic as my wet coat vanished.

"What's wrong?" he asked sharply.

"M-my p-p-arents are d-dead," I stammered, forcing the words out. It was the first time I'd spoken them out loud, and it sounded horrible to my ears.

"When did you find this out?"

"When I g-got home from Lond-d-don a little while ago." I fished the letter and paper clipping from my pocket and handed it to Severus. He scanned it briefly and looked up at me, stunned.

"Hermione, I'm…so sorry…"

I pressed my lips together hard. I wasn't going to cry in front of him, I told myself sternly. He hated that sort of thing. I'd cry in front of Harry, or Ron, but not Severus Snape. And then I saw the concern in his eyes, and my stiff upper lip flew out the window. Quite suddenly, I couldn't catch my breath. I gasped for air.

"Severus…!" Great sobs racked my body, and it felt like I was breaking in two. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.

And then strong arms enfolded me, held me close. I cried for my parents, for life's injustices, and finally, for the fact that Severus Snape cared about me enough to welcome me into his personal space.

Eventually, the sobs faded, replaced by trembling that I couldn't seem to control no matter how hard I tried. Snape sat me in the wing chair next to the fireplace.

" _Incendio,"_ he murmured, brandishing his wand. A roaring fire took hold, and I stared dumbly into the flames.

I became aware of Severus bustling about, murmuring spells. It wasn't long before a warm blanket appeared, and he wrapped it around me. He gave me a glass of firewhiskey, with strict instructions to drink it. It had never been my drink of choice, but I choked it down and was grateful for the warmth it provided. Eventually, I found my voice again.

"I feel like it's my fault," I said dully.

Snape settled down on the sofa, his own glass of firewhiskey in hand. He looked at me in surprise.

"Why on earth would you think that?"

"If I'd left them alone… If I hadn't Obliviated them and given them the idea about Australia…"

"You're talking nonsense, Hermione. I can guarantee that your parents would have been targeted had they remained in Britain. Instead, they died in an accident, and horrific as that might be, at least they enjoyed another six years of life."

There _was_ that… Tears trickled down my cheeks once more. "But I wasn't there for them. I don't even know if they had a funeral, or a memorial service. I need to go to Australia, Severus. I need to go there and find out what happened to their bodies. I don't know if they were buried or cremated, or if they even had a will, for that matter."

Severus sat silently for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. "Would you like me to go with you?"

Snape, offering to accompany me halfway across the world for the miserable mission ahead of me? I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Do you mean it?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it, Hermione," he scowled.

"Then… Then, yes. I would honestly, truly appreciate it," I said frankly. "Harry's leaving for Albania in the morning for a couple of weeks, and Ron—well, I don't want to go there. I don't know who else I could ask."

We sat in silence for a brief time, and then I began to muse aloud about my parents, about my childhood. About how I wished I'd kept them better informed about my years at Hogwarts.

"I didn't tell them much," I admitted regretfully. "I knew they wouldn't really understand, but still… I could have made more of an effort. It's so hard on Muggleborns, because you're basically leaving your family behind. There's always a wedge between you and them, and you can't stop it from happening. And when there's a war going on and you don't want them to know the awful details, you just tend to… separate yourself from them."

"Would they have insisted you leave Hogwarts, had they known?"

I thought about that. "I don't know. They always encouraged me to be independent, but still…"

"Would you have packed it in had they asked?"

I shook my head sorrowfully. "No," I murmured.

Eventually, I ran out of words. I was warm and comfortable next to the fire, and my eyelids began to droop. I was absolutely spent. I felt Snape take the firewhiskey glass out of my hand. Reflexively, I grasped his fingers and squeezed. He squeezed back.

I am in love with this man, I thought, and then darkness descended.

…..

I awoke to the low hum of male voices and the clink of dishware. I forced my eyes open—a major endeavor, as they felt nearly sealed shut—and found pale sunlight streaming through the blinds of Snape's sitting room window. I'd been here all night? I prized myself up to a sitting position and discovered that I was on the sofa. The last thing I remembered was sitting in the chair.

"Severus?" I called, my voice raspy.

"She's awake," I heard someone say, and I recognized the voice at once.

"Harry?" Here?

"Hermione, you're awake." Harry came into the room, put his coffee cup on the end table, and sat down on the sofa next to me.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Albania." Had it been only last night that we'd had dinner together in London?

"I'll be leaving shortly. Snape sent me a message early this morning, asking me to stop by to see you before I left town."

Severus had done that for me?

"Oh. Oh, Harry!" My face crumpled. He took me into his arms and I buried my face in his neck. I'm an orphan, I thought. An orphan just like him.

Harry patted my back and said soothing things. When Severus appeared, carrying a cup of coffee for me and a conjured handkerchief, Harry released me and sat back while I mopped myself up a bit.

"Thank you," I sniffled to Severus. "For the coffee. And for contacting Harry. That was so kind of you."

Snape looked somewhat embarrassed, as though he'd been caught being nice and regretted it. He nodded stiffly and retreated to the kitchen.

"Severus said the two of you are going to Australia to take care of things," Harry said as I took my first sips of coffee.

"Yes. I need to let my office know that I'll be away for a few days—"

"Already taken care of. Snape sent a message to your Auror, Clare Stringfellow. And I'll send a message to Kingsley before I leave the country, to let him know what's happened."

"Could you let the Weasleys know?" I asked. "But tell them I've already left. I don't want anyone coming around today and making a fuss."

"You mean Molly," Harry said with a grin.

"Right. I don't think I could bear it just yet."

"Understood."

Harry's eyes wandered up to the top of my head and quickly down again. It was the second time he'd done that, I realized.

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Well, your hair. It's a bit, er, wilder than usual."

"What?" I immediately reached up to feel my hair and discovered that it was bushed out in all directions. "What in the world… Severus?"

Snape appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Yes?"

"My hair. Did you…?

"I merely cast a drying charm on it," he shrugged. "You were a drowned rat when you came in the door last night."

A burble of laughter escaped me. "You can't dry my hair like that."

"Why not?"

"Well, it has a mind of its own, you see. You have to let it air dry a bit and then use a gentle heat charm to take care of the rest."

I saw a look pass between Snape and Harry; it was obvious that they were both completely clueless about such things.

"Oh," Severus said, and I saw the corners of his mouth twitching.

"It's alright," I sighed. _Men_.

Harry stayed a few more minutes. We talked about how to proceed when I reached Australia, and he made certain that I knew how to reach Simon Waters at LEMCOA for whatever assistance I needed.

"He's a nice bloke," Harry told me. "He can help you and Snape get wizarding accommodations. How long do you think you'll be there?"

"I have no idea, Harry. Besides collecting the remains—" the word nearly stuck in my throat, but I pressed on, "—I need to see what to do about my parents' home; I can't remember if they were renting, or if they bought the place. I suppose I'll have to contact an estate agent."

Harry nodded. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I wish I could go with you, but—"

"I know. It's alright. I'll have Severus along."

"It seems like Snape is doing a good job of taking care of you, Hermione. I never thought I'd say this, but I think I actually like the guy."

"Don't let him hear you say that," I teased. "I'm not sure he could stand it."

Harry glanced toward the kitchen, making sure he wasn't about to be overheard. "You and Snape, Hermione. You seem like you're very close. Are you two together?"

My first instinct was to blurt out an obvious 'No, we're just friends', but it would have been a blatant lie on my part.

"I don't know what we are, Harry. I honestly don't. I just know that he's a decent man who's rebuilt his life, and I think… No, I _know_ that I love him."

"If he hurts you," Harry began, scowling.

I shook my head warningly. "Just let things ride. It will take time to sort everything out."

…..

After Harry left, I Apparated to my flat. I showered—my hair _did_ look an absolute fright, and I couldn't help but laugh at myself in the mirror—and packed my things.

Severus had reserved a one o'clock departure time for us at the International Floo Port in London. I met him there, and we left for Australia.


	14. Chapter 14

_My sincere apologies to any readers from Australia. I've taken a stab at your slang and probably mucked it up big time._

 ** _Chapter 14_**

We emerged from the dark Floo in Australia's Floo Port Authority and tried to get our bearings.

"I suppose," Severus said, "the first order of business is to find accommodations."

My brow furrowed. "I thought we would head straight to the Ministry and talk to the Auror who sent the letter."

"You do realize there's a significant time difference between London and Sydney, don't you? You have been here before, so you must."

"Yes, but I've forgotten how many hours. What time is it, anyway?"

Snape nodded in the direction of a dozen large clocks on the wall, all displaying the current hour in various countries.

"It's ten forty-five at night here," he said. "The Ministry will be closed, of course."

"Oh." My heart sank. I'd been so anxious to come right away that I hadn't even bothered to consider the ramifications of a nine hour gap between cities. Everything I needed to accomplish would have to wait until the morning. "When I was here with Harry, we found rooms at a Muggle hotel when we left the airport," I volunteered lamely.

Severus walked up to a welcome wall, which advertised local amenities for traveling witches and wizards.

"There's an inn advertised here, the Scullery Dog. Third grate on the Red Floo line. Shall we try it?"

"Sure." My body was in no way ready to call it a day, but the late hour gave us no choice.

We scanned the available Floos and saw that they were color-coded.

"Do you mean to say that you and Potter flew on a Muggle airplane the last time?" Severus asked as we walked toward the Red Floo entrance. "Whatever for?"

"It was right after the final battle. We didn't want to be recognized at the Floo Port and have people make a big fuss over us. And frankly, right then it felt rather good to escape magic for a while and just travel like two normal people."

"Like Muggles."

"You know what I mean." I had in no way intended to imply that witches and wizards were abnormal, but I was too weary to discuss it further just now.

When we emerged from the Red Floo, we found ourselves in the lobby of the Scullery Dog Inn, est. 1790. In contrast to the dark corners of the Leaky Cauldron in London, the place was bright and spacious. Severus turned to me.

"It looks decent enough. Shall I inquire for rooms, or do you want to do the honors?"

"Go ahead," I said. "You look more intimidating."

He gave me a look, but walked to the desk anyway.

The desk clerk, a young woman with dangling claw earrings and a bright blue streak of hair falling over one eye, saw him coming.

"Are you right?" she asked brightly.

Severus stared at her, momentarily taken aback by the question.

"Usually," he said, mystified. "Two rooms, please."

"Righto," the girl cried. "If you'd come a week ago, you'd have had Buckley's chance, but not to worry. She'll be apples for you."

Snape and I exchanged confused glances.

"Not from here, are ya?" She winked and passed us each a parchment to fill out and sign.

"No. Britain," Severus muttered.

"Oh. That explains it, all right."

I didn't know if it was a compliment or not. We completed the paperwork, and then the girl passed two keys across the counter to us.

"Here you go. And my name's Maisie. Anything else I can be helping you with?"

"I realize it's late," I put in, "but because of the time difference, we won't be ready to sleep for hours yet. Is there any kind of pub or restaurant where we can find food?"

"Bob's your uncle," Maisie said promptly.

At last. Something we understood.

"There's a place down the road, name of Cowan's," Maisie told us. "Good tucker, open twentyfour-seven."

"What road would that be, exactly?" Severus demanded. "We don't even know where we are, other than somewhere in Sydney."

"That's right, just off the boat. But you're not, because you came by Floo!" Maisie hooted at her own joke. "You're in the wizarding shopping district, loves. We call it WizRocks, because it's just off the Rocks area near the harbor. Rocks is a real old spot, you know? Old settlement. Anyway, just head out the main door there and turn right. There are three streets in WizRocks: Somme, Moore, and Loess. Cowan's is on Moore. We're on Loess, if you get lost."

"Would any other shops be open?" I asked, curious. Perhaps there was a bookstore where we could kill time.

"Only a sundries shop and a dance club at this hour."

"Does the sundries shop sell potions?" Snape inquired.

"Basic ones, yeah."

I thanked Maisie for her help and Severus and I went to find our rooms.

The rooms were basic but clean, and would certainly do for a night or two. I washed the grime of the long-distance Floo from my face and wished with all my heart this was a pleasure trip and not what it actually was.

We found Cowan's Grille easily among the other darkened stores of WizRocks. Severus and I ordered lunch because that's what our inner clocks were telling us, although my appetite seemed to have fled. When my food arrived, I picked at it.

"Eat, Hermione," he urged. "I know you're upset, but you do need to eat something. We have a very long day ahead of us."

"I know." Other than coffee at Snape's house seven hours earlier, I'd not eaten since sometime yesterday.

I finally managed to get down about half the food on my plate. Severus found yesterday's wizarding newspaper, the _Spellcaster_ , on a nearby table and leafed through it. He passed it to me and I glanced through it with little interest. Finally, we left the restaurant and located the sundries shop where Snape bought two doses of a sleeping draught.

"We'll need this," he said. "We're on Greenwich time; with luck, we can catch a few hours of sleep and wake up with the rest of Sydney."

He was right, of course. We returned to the Scullery Dog and our respective rooms. I downed my sleeping draught and fell immediately asleep.

…..

Severus knocked on my door at eight-thirty a.m., rousing me from a deep sleep. I told him I would meet him in the lobby in twenty minutes, then went to shower and dress.

He wasn't in the lobby yet when I went down. Nor was Maisie, I noted. A pleasant-looking middle-aged gentleman was at the desk in her place.

"Excuse me," I said, "but is there any place where I could find a Muggle phone to make a call?"

"'Muggle'?"

"Non-magic. I need to contact the police."

The man looked alarmed. "Is there a problem, Miss?"

"No, not at all. It's just that my parents are—were—non-magic, and I need to discuss them with the non-magic authorities."

"Of course. We do have a telephone here for just such a need." He pulled an outdated mobile phone out of a drawer beneath the counter, tapped it with his wand, and handed it to me. "The battery thing never seems to last," he said with a sigh.

I pulled out the letter Simon Waters sent and dialed one of the phone numbers he'd listed. I explained what I wanted to the person who answered, had my call rerouted a half-dozen times, and finally located a gentleman named Inspector Richardson of the New South Wales Police Force. He would be happy to meet with me around eleven a.m., he said. I thanked him and rang off just as Severus appeared in the lobby.

"I called the police," I told him. "We meet them at eleven."

"Then we have time for breakfast. Cowan's, again?"

"I suppose." The thought of food still did nothing for me, but I would try to force something down once more.

The WizRocks district was, in full daylight, buzzing with life this time. We made our way to Cowan's Grille again, now able to get a good look at Sydney's counterpart to Diagon Alley. There was still the same variety of stores that we found at home, but like the Scullery Dog Inn, were much brighter and newer-looking in the morning sun. It was a clear reminder that compared to England, Australia was a much younger part of the British Empire. We ate breakfast: eggs and bacon for Severus, while a sweet roll was all I could manage. Then we browsed in the shops until time to find the police station.

…..

Inspector Garrett Richardson might be overweight and balding, but he was obviously sharp as a tack. When he asked to see my identification, I could only stare at him stupidly for a moment. ID? Of course he would want to see my ID. Why hadn't I thought to conjure some sort of Muggle identification card? Fortunately, Severus stepped in to fill the gap.

"I believe," he drawled, "that you've left your bag in our rental car, Hermione. I'll get it for you."

"Thank you," I said gratefully. There was no rental car, of course. Inspector Richardson was in the midst of giving me a stern lecture on the perils of leaving one's purse in one's car, _especially_ a rental car, when Snape reappeared several minutes later.

"Here you are," he said, handing me a rather ugly black handbag.

Inside I found superb imitations of both a Muggle driver's license and passport, which I promptly passed across the desk to the Inspector.

Richardson made copies of the IDs for my parents' case file before he handed them back to me. "Thank you. And I am so sorry for your loss, Ms. Granger."

"What can you tell me about the accident?" I asked, torn between listening and covering my ears to avoid hearing the answer.

He opened a file and handed me several photos showing a mangled car. I gasped; immediately, I felt Snape's strong hand gripping my shoulder.

"The details are rather sketchy, as no one witnessed the accident," Richardson told me. "But it was raining at the time, and you can see in the photographs that the road curves there. It was simply a case of too much speed for the road conditions."

I read through the police report filled out at the time of the accident, unsuccessfully fighting back tears. The Inspector passed me a box of tissues.

"What happened to their bodies?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Richardson looked through more paperwork in the file.

"When no one came forward to claim them, they were cremated."

"Are the remains available?" I whispered.

He searched through more papers. "I believe they're retained at the morgue for a year from the date of death."

I tried to form the next question, but all that emerged was a sob. Once more, Severus came to my rescue.

"How do we go about claiming them? May we take them back to Britain?" he asked.

"Of course. I can probably have the remains here by tomorrow morning, if that would be satisfactory."

I nodded wordlessly. The last thing I wanted was to visit a morgue.

Richardson discussed regulations about transporting remains into another country and what restrictions the airlines might have. It was all totally unnecessary, of course, and I tuned it out while Severus kept up the pretense of listening carefully to the information. It gave me time to collect myself, and finally, I found my voice once more.

"Do you have any idea of what happened with their home and their belongings?"

Inspector Richardson flipped to the last page in the file. "It appears that after several months their landlord was justifiably anxious to let the house again. Your parents' clothing and personal effects were boxed up and stored in our evidence locker. You would like those, I'm sure?"

"Yes." So the house was rented; at least I didn't have to deal with selling the property and all the red tape that it entailed.

We made arrangements to meet back at Richardson's office the next day. I clutched the ugly black purse under my arm as we walked out.

"Thank you for your quick thinking," I told Severus. "It never occurred to me that they would want to see my identification."

"Not a problem," he said quietly. "I should have thought of it myself, for that matter. We have the rest of the day, Hermione. What would you like to do? Would you prefer to go back to the Inn and rest?"

"No. I'd rather keep busy, if you don't mind. Or did you want to go back and rest?"

"No, I slept decently enough. I'm sure we can find something to keep us occupied."

We spent the afternoon visiting the Sydney Opera House and the Muggle Rocks area, finally ending up in the WizRocks shops again. Severus picked up some obscure Potions ingredients that were unavailable in Britain while I bought a book on Defensive Spells. I showed it to Snape, and he confiscated it at once.

"Interesting," he said, leafing through the book. "This may be helpful in my editing project."

I snatched the book back, smiling for what seemed the first time in forever.

"And I would be happy to _loan_ it to you, Severus. All you have to do is ask."

"Cheeky witch," he muttered, but I could have sworn he was smiling as well.

…..

We returned to Richardson's office the following day. When he brought out the plain boxes holding my parents' remains, I fumbled for Snape's hand and gripped it hard, trying to remember to breathe.

"Again," Richardson said, "I'm very, very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." I regarded the boxes with a wave of overwhelming sadness.

"The boxes with your parents' personal effects are on the loading dock. If you'll pull your car up there, someone will be available to help you load them," Inspector Richardson told us. "If you'll just sign this form, saying that we've turned this all over to you?"

"Of course." I scribbled my name on the bottom of the printed form, then rose from my chair. "Thank you so much for your help, Inspector."

"You're quite welcome, Ms. Granger." Richardson said, shaking my hand.

I picked up the boxes with the remains. They were so much lighter than I'd expected. Two lives, now confined to two small containers…

"I can carry them if you wish, Hermione," Severus offered softly from my side.

I gave him a wan smile. "Thanks, but I can do it."

Severus and I followed the directions Richardson gave us and found the loading dock with no problem. The man on duty looked duly puzzled when we showed up without a vehicle, but a simple Confundus Charm worked the trick. Snape shrank all the boxes, and we left, heading directly for the Floo Port Authority.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter 15_**

I returned to work the following Monday. My co-workers were quite solicitous, Clare in particular.

"I'm so sorry, dear," she murmured, clasping my hands. "It's a terrible thing to lose one's parents, isn't it?"

I nodded and thanked her for her concern, then headed straight for my office. Quite frankly, I was tired of receiving condolences. Molly Weasley had sent a long letter of sympathy, begging me to come to the Burrow for a long weekend; she would see to it that I could rest and regroup, and when would I be available? I didn't have the heart to reply to her yet. Somehow I knew that if I went there, even for a few hours, I'd suffocate under the weight of her well-intended affections.

I had just begun to leaf through the pile of parchment that had accumulated on my desk when I heard Sondra's awestruck voice filter in from the front of the building.

"You're Ron Weasley, aren't you?" she gushed.

Her reverent tone reminded me forcibly of a love-sick Lavender Brown during Sixth Year, and I groaned aloud. I got to my feet and headed for the reception area, knowing Ron would need rescue from Sondra's hero-worship.

"Uh, yeah, I'm Ron," he was saying.

"I've read about all your exploits! It's so wonderful what you did, helping Harry Potter get rid of Voldemort."

"Uh…"

"Hi, Ron," I interrupted.

He stood there, clutching a large bouquet of flowers. It looked almost as if he were trying to hide behind them, ducking Sondra's adoring gaze.

"Hermione. Hi," he said, relieved to see me. "Do you have a couple of minutes to talk?"

"Of course. Come through."

We bumped shoulders in the narrow hallway to my office.

"These are for you," he said, thrusting the flowers into my arms.

"Thanks, Ron, but it's really not necessary."

"Yeah, it is."

When we reached my office, I conjured a vase and filled it with the fragrant blooms.

"They're really lovely," I said.

"They're from me, but also—well, all of us, really. I told Mum I'd pick out something really nice." Ron closed the door behind him.

"She wrote to me, but I'm afraid I haven't answered yet. She really wants me to come to the Burrow for a while. Honestly, Ron, I don't think I could deal with all that attention right now."

"Yeah, I get it. Mum's a pro at being overbearing, you know."

I nodded mute agreement. Ron continued.

"Maybe this is a bad time to bring this up, but Christmas is in a few weeks and my folks really want you to come."

"When you say 'Christmas'…" I began, wary. Typically, Christmas at the Burrow started on Christmas Eve and ended when the sun went down on Boxing Day. I'd enjoyed a number of such Christmases with the Weasleys, but right now the very thought of it gave me a headache.

"I don't know, Ron. I don't think I can do that this year."

"Is it because of me?" he ventured timidly.

"What?" I stared at him blankly before finally understanding his concern. "Oh. No, no, of course not. I'll be happy to come for a while. For Christmas dinner? Would that be all right?"

"Sure. I'll let Mum know." Ron's smile was just a bit uneasy.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. I need to tell you something, Hermione. I'm—er—I'm seeing someone new, and there's a possibility she'll be there on Christmas."

There was one brief flash of pain, and then it was gone; I truly was over our broken romance. "Really? Ron! That's wonderful! I'm very happy for you. Who is it?"

"Janelle Murray. She's was three years behind us at Hogwarts. She's a Hufflepuff," Ron added, obviously relieved that I wasn't going to dissolve in tears or throw things at him.

I tried and failed to come up with a mental image of the girl. "I can't place her…"

"She was a Chaser on their Quidditch team our sixth year." Ron took one look at my vacant expression and laughed aloud. "Sorry. I should have known you'd never remember a Quidditch player from another team. Anyway, I met her at the Ministry. She just started in Dad's office a few weeks ago."

"That's really, really great, Ron. "

"Thanks. I just didn't want you to show up at the Burrow on Christmas and find her there."

 _Like I did with Lavender?_ I immediately reminded myself not to be petty.

"Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you to give me a heads up."

Ron stood awkwardly, almost as if he didn't know what to do with the compliment. I had to admit, I'd never showered him with a whole lot of them. I could definitely see where I had taken Ron Weasley for granted.

"I really am sorry, Hermione. About Lavender, about everything. And this is such a rum deal with your parents and all… Could I… Could I hug you? Just as friends, you know."

"Sure." I allowed him to draw me into his embrace, and our years of friendship kept us in that position for a long minute. It was comforting, it was familiar, and I found myself wishing that I was in Severus Snape's arms instead.

…..

December arrived.

I tallied up the number of presents I would need to buy this year and found it depressingly small. I would need to get something for Severus, of course, thought what that could be, I had no clue yet. I also needed presents for Harry and Ginny. It made sense to get a joint gift for them since they would be engaged soon, but as Harry hadn't proposed to her yet, would a gift meant for a couple be considered in poor taste? Then I remembered that I should buy some sort of presents for my staff, and decided that they were the least of my worries; generic gift certificates would fit the bill.

Life had resumed its normal routine. At work, Clare was coping with some petty thievery (not unusual when the holidays approached, she told me), and Dex was grumpy because Quidditch was on hiatus until after the first of the year. Sondra continued to plague me with questions about Snape: how we were doing in our research, whether he was as curmudgeonly as she'd heard, whether there were still girls coming around the house to get a peek at him. I suspect that she was looking for any indication that Severus might possibly entertain romance with a daft blonde receptionist who'd gotten two whole N.E.W.T.'s.

Once more, my evenings and weekends were largely filled with helping Snape with his editing project. He had even cooked dinner for us on three occasions, and we made the odd trip out to the closest pub. Saturday mornings were still spent at Coffee Cartel.

The first Saturday in December, I was sipping my pumpkin spice latte when Severus put down his Muggle-disguised copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and eyed me over the rim of his reading glasses. I had recently come to the conclusion that Severus Snape in reading glasses was, in Sondra's words, sex on a stick.

"What?" I asked.

"You haven't said anything recently about your parents. How are you coping?"

"I'm okay. Really."

"Have you attempted to go through their belongings yet?"

'No," I admitted. "I haven't been able to bring myself to do it."

"What about the ashes?"

"I think I want to scatter them in the river, but not yet. Maybe in the spring. It just seems wrong to do it in the dead of winter. Speaking of winter…" I took a deep breath. "Christmas is in a few weeks."

"Obviously. What about it?"

"Do you have plans?" I asked tentatively.

"Minerva suggested that I might want to return to Hogwarts for Christmas."

I was mildly disappointed, but it made sense. Hogwarts had been Snape's home for so long, it was only natural to be want to there for Christmas.

"Would you care to accompany me?" Severus added, regarding me curiously.

I thought of the Great Hall, adorned in its Yuletide finery, and wished I hadn't already told Ron I'd spend a few hours at the Burrow.

"I can't. Not for Christmas Day, at any rate. I've already been invited to the Weasleys'."

"Of course."

"I was wondering, though," I began. "I would like to cook you dinner. Sort of a thank you for going to Australia with me."

"You've already thanked me a number of times," Severus pointed out. "It's really not necessary, Hermione."

"I know, but I was hoping maybe, if you weren't doing anything on Christmas Eve… It would give me something to occupy my mind. I'd rather not spend the time thinking about my parents. And you do have to eat, you know. I'm going to make shepherd's pie, so it won't be anything terribly fancy. When I made it several months ago, it turned out to be quite tasty, so there's at least one thing I can cook."

At least the small bite I'd taken had been delicious. But then I'd delivered the pie to Grimmauld Place and discovered Ron with Lavender, and things had gone to worms. It reminded me that I needed to ask Harry to return the crockery.

"I could stay here and go to Hogwarts on Christmas Day," Snape said. "Shall I supply the wine, then?"

"That would be great," I said happily.

We left Coffee Cartel and walked back to Spinners' End. The weather was gray and cold, but both Severus and I were bundled up for it. Christmas decorations had begun sprouting up everywhere, I noticed. Cokeworth was trying its best to be festive.

"I miss living here," I mused aloud.

"Here?" he asked, incredulous. "The garden spot of post-industrial Britain?"

I laughed and tried to explain.

"There's so much going on," I said, gesturing around at the houses. "Look, that flat's been completely finished in the short time since I moved. And that place, over there… They have their new windows in. They'd only just started when I got here this summer. And there's always the hammering and sawing and what-not in the background. Did you notice the storefront on the other corner? It looks like someone's tackling that renovation. I wonder what it'll be moving in. The neighborhood is coming alive, Severus. It's not like the dull-as-dishwater street I live on."

"You mean the perfectly safe, low-crime area where people look down their noses at streets like this?"

"Yes." It was true; my flat of just over two months felt no more like home than the day I'd moved in. "The neighbors aren't what you would call terribly friendly. I've yet to spend more than thirty seconds saying hello to anyone. It seems like they all hurry inside, close the doors and curtains, and hide themselves away."

"Rather like me," Snape remarked, and I snorted. I couldn't help it.

"You had good reason to be a recluse," I said.

"'Had'? Are you saying I'm no longer a recluse?" he asked, nonplussed.

"I don't think a recluse would put up with the likes of me for four months."

"Well, you are much more tolerable without your hand waving in the air at me."

I punched him lightly in the arm.

"I shall have to wave my hand at you for old times' sake, then."

"Please. Spare me."

We walked in silence for another minute; finally, Severus spoke.

"I need to go to Diagon Alley today. My quills are nearly ruined, and I'm almost out of ink."

I knew. I was personally responsible for ruining at least one quill with all of the note-taking I'd done.

"What time will you be back?"

"It won't take long, I believe." There was a pause that went on quite a while before he added, "Would you care to go with me?"

"To Diagon Alley?" I blinked in surprise. "You want to be seen in public with me in Diagon Alley? I thought you said—"

He waved aside my objection. "That was before, when all the girls were following me."

"I'd love to go," I answered truthfully. "I love Scrivenshaft's. All that blank parchment, waiting to be used, the beautiful quills, the smell of the ink… I don't suppose you'd mind stopping at Flourish and Blotts, would you?"

"Looking for any book in particular?"

"No. Just to browse." Of course, browsing always turned into buying. The thought of spending an afternoon with Severus Snape, fresh parchment, and walls of books almost made me want to squeal with delight.

"I wouldn't mind a bit of browsing myself."

…..

I met Severus in front of Scrivenshaft's at noon. We bought quills and parchment and then spent a good hour inside Flourish and Blotts. I bought several books, as did Severus. And after that, it seemed only natural to end up at the Leaky Cauldron for a late lunch. For a man who only months ago had virtually refused to be seen in public with me, it was a remarkable turn of events.

Even the sight of Rita Skeeter, glaring at us from a far table over her own lunch, failed to disrupt the mood. I raised my glass of butterbeer in a cheerful salute to what was now our good fortune.

"She's steaming," I said gleefully. "She can't write a thing about us for another three months, and she knows it."

Severus, a characteristic smirk on his face, turned and gave the woman a smug nod of acknowledgement.

And when he turned back to me, we both looked at each other and laughed.

The moment confirmed for me that I loved Severus Snape, that I wanted to be with him for the rest of my days. I hoped, oh how I hoped, that my feelings for him were reciprocated. Had he indeed put aside his feelings for Lily Evans Potter? When—if—Severus thought of the word 'love', could he ever think of it in relation to me, or would it always invoke the image of the red-haired friend of his youth?

 _A/N: In canon, Scrivenshaft's is located in Hogsmeade; the stationery store in Diagon Alley is unnamed. I decided that Scrivenshaft's would be likely to have two locations, though._


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter 16_**

Christmas was fast approaching.

I went to London to do my Christmas shopping one day (gifty boutique-type shops being rather thin on the ground in Cokeworth) and met Harry for lunch. I asked him when he intended to propose to Ginny, and he said that he already had. She'd accepted, of course, but he was waiting until Christmas Eve to present her with the ring and announce it to her family. I hugged him and wished him all the happiness in the world. If anyone deserved a wonderful family life, he did.

"How is Ron faring with his new girlfriend? Do you think they're serious?"

"Janelle? I don't know," Harry shrugged. "It's early days yet."

"True."

"Although, she's Quidditch-mad, so that can't hurt. And she clearly adores him."

"I'd love to see him find someone."

Harry gave me a searching look. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"No, not at all. We're both much better off. And I think we'll still be able to be friends."

"I'm glad. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?"

"Me? Going out on hot dates and painting the town red?" It was a stalling tactic, pure and simple.

Harry snorted. "You? If I heard you were doing that, I'd suspect it was another Rita Skeeter whopper." He suddenly realized what he had implied, and his face reddened. "I mean—not that you don't go out on hot dates, of course. Lots of guys want to date you. Right?"

I was tempted to ask to whom he was referring, but I held my tongue.

"Keep going. You're digging yourself into a nice little hole," I said drily.

"I just meant that hot dates and —well—it's not your style, that's all."

I regarded my friend fondly. "Shut up while you're ahead, Harry."

The conversation moved on to events at the Ministry then, and I congratulated myself on diverting the topic of my love life. Or lack thereof.

…..

Meanwhile, small packages began showing up on the doorstep at Snape's house: singly at first, then two or three a day.

"What's in all the boxes?" I arrived one evening to assist with the Klingbeek text and nearly tripped over them.

Severus grimaced, threw the door open, and Evanesco'd the small pile with a flick of his wand. There was the faint, lingering odor of vanilla, I noticed.

"Candles," he muttered.

"Candles?" I repeated.

"Candles. White, vanilla-scented pillars, all of them. All from 'admirers'."

"Why?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

It wasn't terribly difficult to track down the reason. The next morning, I asked Sondra point-blank why Professor Snape should be received vanilla-scented candles as gifts. She blushed and pulled the December issue of _TeenWitch Weekly_ out of her desk drawer.

"Show me," I said, lines of frustration settling around my mouth. I was not about to go hunting through the pages of garbage on my own.

Sondra leafed through the magazine, found the page, and handed me the magazine.

"But I swear I didn't send him anything," she said hurriedly.

I sighed and spread the magazine out on her desk to read it. 'THE PERFECT GIFT FOR THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE!', said the headline.

"Just there," Sondra said, indicating the middle of the page.

I scanned down until I found mention of Snape's name.

 _'_ _For the Romantic Scholar—think Professor Severus Snape, that luscious hunk—what about some candles to add some ambiance to those quiet evenings at home? No girlish pastel candles, no fancy floral fragrances for_ this _man, just a clean, pure white column with a heady scent of vanilla to put him in the mood!'_

Wordlessly, I shoved the magazine back to Sondra. I told Snape about it later that day.

"So, he said, fixing me with a beady, triumphant stare, "' _it will all die down',_ will it?"

I ignored him.

…..

Two days later, I arrived at Spinner's End for the usual evening of work on the Klingbeek text revision—I was beginning to think I'd be eligible to sit a Mastery Exam in Defense simply by helping Snape in his project—and found an unexpected visitor there.

"Professor McGonagall!" I said in surprise. Although I had been referring to the woman as 'Minerva' for months now, I slipped immediately back into schoolgirl mode.

"Miss Granger," she greeted me warmly from her seat in Snape's armchair. "How good to see you. Severus has been telling me how you've so generously offered to help him with his textbook editing process."

My gaze shifted immediately to Severus, who was sitting on the sofa with an innocent expression on his face. _Rotten Slytherin…_

"Yes, it's been quite a learning experience for me," I deadpanned.

I took a seat next to Snape and the three of us chatted for a few minutes about my job, the latest happenings at Hogwarts, and life in general. Finally, I offered to leave Severus and Minerva to their visit, since it didn't appear that she was in any hurry to depart.

"No, no," Professor McGonagall said, waving a hand in dismissal. "I was about to leave anyway, but since you're here, I would like your opinion on something. Severus and I have already discussed it at length."

"Of course." I waited, wondering what my opinion on anything could possibly be worth.

"Miss Granger, what did you learn in your History of Magic classes?"

I don't know what I'd expected, but that certainly wasn't it.

"Uh…"

The answer was evidently not satisfactory, for Professor McGonagall was still waiting for me to elaborate. My mind raced. I had not given my History of Magic classes a second thought after turning in my N.E.W.T. exam paper four and a half years ago.

"Well, I learned about—uh—Goblin uprisings in 1543—no, 1545, and the Centaur Revolution—no, Rebellion—of 899,—"

She shook her head. "If I ask you to avoid mentioning any dates and names whatsoever, what did you learn?"

I blinked, mystified.

"Uh…"

"My point exactly!" Minerva said gleefully to Severus. "You see?"

He nodded, evidently amused by the woman's enthusiasm.

"What's this about?" I asked.

"Miss Granger—may I call you Hermione? Good. I have been noticing things since the end of the war, things that disturb me. I'm concerned that without deliberate change and innovation, we are in danger of sliding back into complacency, and thus back into danger once more."

I nodded agreement, fully understanding her concern; the thought of future Hogwarts students being forced to endure what Harry, Ron and I had been through, was appalling. Professor McGonagall continued.

"Hogwarts is at a particularly fortuitous point just now. Three from the Board of Governors are completing their terms at the end of the year, and are being replaced by individuals who are more open to new ideas. Kingsley Shacklebolt, in fact, is one of them."

"What does this have to do with History of Magic?" I glanced from her to Severus, who rose to his feet.

"I'll make some coffee," he said. "This will take a while."

"Cream, two sugars," McGonagall reminded him as he left the room.

"Yes, Minerva. I remember."

I settled in, intrigued now.

"My concern, Hermione," Professor McGonagall began, "is that memory can be very short and rather selective when it comes to events we'd rather not recall. Knowing all the facts in the world about Goblin Wars and Giant Rebellions will not help if another Tom Riddle comes along."

It made perfect sense, although I had the sudden, horrible feeling that all the memorization I'd done in Professor Binns' class for seven long years might have been for naught.

"The thing is," she went on, looking especially pleased with herself, "I've told Professor Binns that he has reached retirement age, and must stand down at the end of the summer term."

I stared at her, my mouth hanging slightly open. "How did he take it?"

"Quite well, poor old dear. Said he's always wanted to do some traveling to visit old castles throughout Europe, and perhaps this might be his last chance to do so."

There was a snort of laughter from the kitchen.

"Then… what are you proposing?" I asked Professor McGonagall, trying not to giggle at the thought of the ghostly Professor Binns thinking his traveling days were nearly over.

"I'm thinking of alternating history with Muggle Studies, and which would be required for all students," she said. "History in the Autumn Term, Muggle Studies in the Spring Term, and at the end of the Summer Term, there would be a major paper due addressing how the topics covered in history affected Muggles during the time frame covered. For First Years, I'm thinking of covering the earliest historical events, while Second Years would study the next period in history, and so on each year, or however else the division of historical eras works best."

I was impressed. "It almost makes me want to go back to Hogwarts. Do you think it'll work out?"

"Oh, I suppose there will be a few people upset. Some people absolutely despise change, you know, but I intend to give it my best shot."

"The other teachers…?"

McGonagall pursed her lips at this. "Aurora Sinistra's not thrilled, nor is Septima Vector. Sybil Trelawny is in her own little world, of course. She disappeared two weeks ago to consult the stars about it, and either the stars are silent or else she's completely forgotten I'd asked for her opinion. But everyone else thinks it's an idea worth trying." Professor McGonagall's expression told exactly what she thought about Professor Trelawny's decision-making process. "Believe it or not, the ones who are resistant feel that Binns' class was a character-building experience of sorts."

"Seriously?" I couldn't even imagine such a thing.

Minerva arched a wry eyebrow in my direction. "Character-building in that if they had to suffer through it and lived, everyone should have to do the same."

Severus could be heard pouring coffee into cups. "I would think that everyone would be delighted to have History of Magic changed to something more appealing," he said. "Just having a living, breathing human being standing in front of the class for starters would be an improvement."

"Yes, well, as I was saying: short memories."

"I think it's absolutely brilliant," I said. "You have my support, for whatever it's worth."

Snape came back into the sitting room, carrying one cup of coffee and levitating two more in front of him. "Ladies."

McGonagall and I each took a cup and sipped.

"So would there still be different teachers for History and Muggle Studies?" I asked after a moment. "Wouldn't one or the other be out of a job for a term?"

"I don't know. I've yet to nail down all the details. I'm still working on convincing the Board when it meets after the first of the year. Plus, I also have another project in the works."

"Do you actually sleep at night, or just spend your time dreaming up these plans of yours?" Severus drawled.

McGonagall quelled him with a withering look. "What's your next project?" I wanted to know.

"My plan," she said, "is to provide all incoming First Years with a learning module that teaches the history of Hogwarts. This would be completed before the students arrive on September first and turned in to their heads of house. It will provide all students, regardless of their backgrounds, with the same background information they need to feel some level of comfort when they arrive at school."

Professor McGonagall had been the one to bring me my Hogwarts letter. She had tried her best to make things clear to me and my parents, but so many unanswered questions remained. Without my copy of Hogwarts, A History, I would have been lost. And as much as I loved that book, I could honestly see why other eleven-year-olds would be completely put off by the notion of plunging into a tome that size.

"I like that idea," I said enthusiastically.

"As do I. I think even families from Primary magical families should learn something new."

"What are Primary magical families?"

"A term I use to replace 'pureblood'. I'm determined to banish the use of that word, along with 'Mudblood'."

"Can you do that?" I asked, fascinated.

"I can within the confines of Hogwarts," she said haughtily. "One would think that lessons have been learned by now, but we all know better. Any teacher overhearing that sort of denigration will be taking away quite significant numbers of house points, along with removing the offenders from extracurricular activities such as Quidditch."

"But that won't stop students from using them," I pointed out.

"Of course not, but I want the message to be very clear that such language is not to be tolerated."

We sat and chatted for a few more minutes until Professor McGonagall stood to leave.

"By the way," she added as she swung her cloak around her shoulders, a barely concealed smirk on her face, "how is your torrid love affair going?"

I blushed and Severus rolled his eyes. I knew that he had informed his Hogwarts colleagues early on that anything they read about us in the _Daily Prophet_ or elsewhere was not to be taken seriously.

"Just swimmingly, Minerva. We should be announcing our engagement any day now," he said in the mocking, taunting tones I'd heard far too often in my youth.

Professor McGonagall laughed. Snape laughed. I tried to, but the comment stung. My burgeoning feelings for Severus were no laughing matter to me, being as I'd already admitted to myself that I was in love with him. There was no doubt in my mind that Snape enjoyed having me around, and I was certain as well that he cared for me. Then there were the little things I'd noticed: the occasional lingering glance, an expression on his face that spoke of more than friendship. Times when he seemed close, oh, so close, to reaching for me…

We never got around to the textbook editing that evening, discussing instead the curriculum changes Minerva was proposing. When I crawled into bed later on and pulled up the covers, sleep eluded me. I was suddenly surrounded by uncertainties. Did he love me, or didn't he? And what would I do next autumn, when Severus returned to Hogwarts, and I was left behind in Cokeworth?


	17. Chapter 17

**_Chapter 17_**

On December twenty-fourth, I closed the office at noon. Sondra strung fairy lights about the break room, Clare brought in homemade biscuits and pies, and I provided the eggnog. Even Dex, who'd been doing his best to emulate Ebenezer Scrooge in recent days, managed to provide some crackers and a small Conjured Christmas tree for the festivities.

I presented my staff with their gift certificates: Gladrags for Sondra, Quality Quidditch Supplies for Dex, and Flourish and Blotts for Clare. The Gladrags certificate was basically a bribe to encourage Sondra's good behavior as of late. The girl thanked me, although not as earnestly as I'd expected. I wondered if Rita's offer had been substantially higher.

Finally, after we'd Vanished the remains of the party and wished each other Merry Christmas for the hundredth time, I Apparated home to make my own preparations for Christmas Eve dinner.

I cooked, set the table, lit a few candles ( _not_ the white pillars that Severus had accumulated at an alarming rate), and rechecked the general tidiness of my flat. I hadn't been so bold as to hang the obvious sprig of mistletoe, but I hoped I wouldn't need it. I took a long bath in some deliciously scented bubbles, used liberal amounts of Sleekeazy to tame my hair, and finally slipped into my clothes. The gift certificate wasn't the only thing I'd bought from Gladrags; the silky, smoky blue robe I'd splurged on made me feel equal parts confident and desirable. For the first time, I wished that I had enchanted my Muggle mirror to speak back. I was quite sure that it would be gushing over my appearance.

Yes, I had done everything I could to guarantee that the evening would be perfect.

Snape arrived promptly at seven, looking incredible in charcoal slacks and a deep maroon jumper. His eyes seemed to linger on me for an exceptionally long time, I thought with delight as I accepted the bottle of wine he provided.

"How did your work party go?" he inquired, trailing after me as I carried the wine into the kitchen.

"Better than expected. Those people are beginning to grow on me." It was true. Clare, Dex and Sondra certainly were characters, but at least they were _my_ characters. The Cokeworth job had turned out to be a huge improvement over banging my head against a brick wall in London.

I poured the wine, and after a few minutes of small talk, invited Severus to the table. He complimented me on the shepherd's pie ( _Yes!)_ and managed two helpings. We chatted about anything and everything: whether I'd thought more about a Mastery, what long-range career plans I might have. I finally fessed up to being the one who'd stolen the Boomslang skin from his stores during Second Year. Severus, when I finally gave him a chance to speak about himself, went so far as to share some details of his childhood (the least painful ones, I was certain), as well as the difficulties he'd had beginning to teach Potions at Hogwarts.

"I suppose," he said with surprising honesty, "that if I'd actually sought the teaching position, someone might have given me formal training in how to do the job. As it was, I flailed about for years."

"Had you ever considered teaching?" I asked, intrigued.

"Never. I liked Potions well enough to want to be a brewer for a large company, but Albus put paid to that idea. I had to do my penance at Hogwarts." Severus spotted the righteous indignation that had flared up in my eyes, and shook his head at once. "It's water under the bridge, Hermione. He may have called the shots from that time forward, but I was a victim of my own stupidity."

I still felt badly for him. "You've told me to continue my education. Couldn't you make a career change now if you wanted?"

"I could, but I truly don't want to. I'm sure the daily grind at a Potions factory would no longer be my cup of tea. I prefer teaching DADA because I truly enjoy the subject. And at least my classroom isn't in danger of exploding cauldrons every day."

I served dessert, a scrumptious chocolate Yule log that I'd bought at a nearby bakery. There was enough chocolate on that plate to ward off a small army of Dementors, and we enjoyed every last bite.

While Severus carried our dishes to the kitchen sink, I went to the sitting room and brought out his present. I tucked it behind my back while I stood waiting for him, and when he walked back in the room, I held it out. "This is for you, Severus. Merry Christmas."

He looked suddenly discomfited. I suspected, probably correctly, that this was a man who'd had little experience being a gracious recipient of gifts. But he unwrapped it quickly, and the sight of the book, just like my own, brought a pleased smile to his face. As did the gift card to Coffee Cartel.

"Thank you," he said, "although I suspect your motivation had more to do with concern that I wouldn't return your copy of the book."

"Cynic," I teased. "And you're welcome."

Severus reached into his pocket and brought out a box which he tapped with his wand to enlarge it to original size. He handed it to me, saying, "Merry Christmas, Hermione."

I tore away the wrapping paper and found a beautiful silk scarf inside. The blues and greens went perfectly with my new robe, I realized. "It's beautiful," I told him happily, and looped it quickly around my neck. "Absolutely perfect, Severus. Thank you." Impulsively, I rose to my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

When I stepped back, Severus was looking at me as though I were a dangerous fantastic beast that Newt Scamander had somehow completely missed. I could almost see the emotions warring within him: fascination mingled with longing, which clashed with something resembling out-and-out fear. Carefully, he reached out to pull me close, and then kissed me tentatively on the lips.

That kiss was followed by another gentle, questioning kiss, and then the kisses became more urgent. My toes curled in utter delight. I was kissing Severus Snape, and if this wasn't the most wonderful Christmas in the world, what was? I moved deeper into his embrace, threading my fingers into his hair. _So_ that _was what Severus Snape's hair felt like: thick but fine, certainly not greasy…_

Abruptly, Severus pushed me away. He was breathing heavily, the expression on his face indicating that he'd finally met an enemy he couldn't handle.

"Is something wrong?" I stammered.

"I don't know if I can do this," Snape blurted.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione." And with that, he grabbed the heavy cloak he'd strewn on my sofa and Disapparated into nothingness.

I stared blankly after him, my thoughts roiling. Was I so objectionable? Was it because I was a former student, or was his heart still so firmly bound to Lily Evans that he could never move on? A sob burst out, and I sank down on the sofa and cried hot tears. In the space of just over six months, I'd lost my job, my boyfriend, my parents, and now, Severus. Shouldn't there be a limit to how much loss one could undergo in a short period of time?

Finally, I tried to collect myself. I wanted to wear my new robes to the Burrow tomorrow, but not if they were liberally sprinkled with tearstains. I hurriedly changed out of them and threw myself back in the shower, scrubbing off the makeup I'd so carefully applied and rinsing all the Sleekeazy out of my hair. And I tried to think rationally.

I would not, I told myself, let this evening spoil Christmas or even my presence in Cokeworth. Severus Snape was likely an emotional cripple incapable of carrying on a romantic relationship. After all, he'd never been good at interacting with people; whatever made me think I might be the exception to the rule? Evidently five months of the friendship we shared was not enough to turn him into a stable human being.

I toweled off and slipped into my pajamas, staring in discouragement at the remains of tonight's dinner. Snape had left his present behind, I noted. I supposed I would have to return it to him in the next few days, as well as apologize for what was clearly my mistaken impression of our relationship. I washed the plates and silverware, then found the crock with the remaining shepherd's pie staring me in the face. I aimed my wand at it carefully and muttered, " _Evanesco!"_ The crock and its contents disappeared into thin air.

I never wanted to see a shepherd's pie again, much less make one. Things just never ended well when I did.

…..

I awoke to church bells pealing joyfully in the distance. It was Christmas morning, and I'd never felt less cheery about it. Even dressing in my new robes to visit the Burrow held no appeal. By the time I arrived, Ginny would be wearing her engagement ring, and she and Harry would be over the moon. Ron and his new girlfriend Janelle would be there. Percy, George and Bill would be there with their spouses. And I would be… alone. The Weasleys would bend over backwards to make me feel welcome, of course, as they always had. But I could clearly envision future Christmas visits there, always as the unmarried friend who came to visit because she had nowhere else to go.

The thought made me very nearly ill, and I determined right then and there to end the pity party and move on. I was better than this, damn it. I was young. I would go back to school for a Mastery in something _,_ even if I had no idea yet what it might be. I could travel, I could work in other countries. I would not allow myself to be defined by Severus Snape and his multitude of issues.

I dressed and went for a long walk in the cold—decidedly _not_ in the direction of Spinners' End—and finally returned to my flat rosy-cheeked and ready to face the world. Or at least the Weasleys.

…..

"Hermione!" Molly met me at the door with an enormous hug. "Merry Christmas, dear! I know it's not the merriest of Christmases this year, though, is it? I wish you had come here for a while after you returned from Australia…"

I extricated myself carefully. "I know, Molly. And I appreciated the offer more than you know. I just needed some time by myself."

"Oh, of course. Well, come in, come in. Everybody? Hermione's here!"

I was met with a rousing chorus of hellos and Happy Christmases. Ron came up to me, clutching the hand of a pretty dark-haired girl with striking blue eyes.

"Hermione, this is Janelle, Janelle Murray," he said, clearly a bit nervous about the introduction.

Janelle looked only slightly less flustered than Ron. "Hi, Hermione. I'm so pleased to finally meet you. I mean, I remember seeing you around Hogwarts, but I was younger, and always hanging around the Hufflepuffs."

I smiled graciously. "It's very nice to meet you, Janelle. How are you holding up? I understand this your first time at the Burrow."

She nodded, and I could tell by the expression in her eyes that she was teetering on the verge of being overwhelmed by it all.

"Don't worry. They're wonderful people. _All_ of them." I directed the last statement toward Ron, and he nodded gratefully.

"Hermione!" Harry and Ginny greeted me with hugs, then Ginny held out her left hand for me to inspect.

"Ginny! It's gorgeous!" I admired the beautiful diamond Harry had shown me a month earlier. "It suits you perfectly!"

"I think so, too!" Ginny said, looking flushed and happy. "Will you be my maid of honor, Hermione?"

"Of course. Have you set the date?" The saying 'Always a bridesmaid, never a bride' flitted through my mind briefly and I shoved it aside.

"June, but no firm date yet." Ginny paused to look me over. "New robes? You look gorgeous, Hermione. That color is great on you. Beautiful scarf, by the way."

I reached up to finger the gift Severus had given me. "Thanks."

"Come have a seat, Hermione," Molly scolded, shooing me towards an open seat next to Percy and his wife Penelope. "We're still opening presents."

Arthur, who was apparently acting as Father Christmas for the morning, beamed as he handed me a gift that was, unmistakably, a book. I unwrapped it and laughed out loud at the title.

" _Be the Best Boss You Can Be Without Letting the Bozos Get the Best of You._ This is perfect," I said, leafing through it.

"It's from me," Arthur pointed out. "Believe me, there's a lot of good advice in there. I don't know what I would have done without my copy over the years."

I thought about the elderly Perkins, as far as I knew the only subordinate Arthur had had to contend with over the years, and smiled.

More presents followed: a cookery book from Molly entitled _Hope for the Hopeless,_ a gift certificate to Flourish and Blotts from Harry and Ginny, and a box of Honeydukes' best chocolate from Ron. Finally, all the presents had been dispensed and a general air of happy contentment fell over the room. Bill's young daughter Victoire romped about with Percy's daughter Molly, and Fleur went upstairs to nurse her newest arrival, Dominique. Percy and Bill were discussing some issue related to Goblins, while George, Angelina, Harry, Janelle and Ron fell into a good-spirited argument about Quidditch teams and Ginny bent my ear about wedding ideas. It was impossible to dwell on last evening's events, and I found that I was enjoying myself in spite of everything.

Eventually, Molly headed to the kitchen to begin final preparations for Christmas dinner, joined by Penelope, Angelina, and Fleur. I knew better than to get in the way, so I spent the time trying to get to know Janelle better. She was sweet, pleasant, but also apologetic.

"I know you and Ron were together for a long time," she began, hesitant. "I was afraid maybe you'd be angry with me."

I shook my head at once. "Don't even think that. Ron and I assumed for years that we'd be together, but we never stopped to really look at ourselves and discover how much we'd changed. The two of us just weren't meant for each other, when push came to shove."

"That's kind of what he said, but I just wanted to be sure. I didn't want to step on your toes," Janelle said, relieved.

Just then I heard a faint knock at the door. Arthur dislodged himself from the easy chair where he was ready to nod off and went to answer it, muttering, "Who could that be? I thought everyone was present and accounted for."

Janelle had just begun telling me about her life in Hufflepuff when Arthur returned to whisper in my ear. "Excuse me, Hermione, but could you come outside with me?"

What in the world? I rose to my feet and trailed behind Arthur, only to discover that he was leading me not only outside, but straight to the broom shed off the garden.

"In you go," he said, nudging me inside and closing the door behind me.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. When they did, I saw Severus walking towards me. I stared at him, stunned to find him here.

"Hermione." Clad in his heavy winter cloak, his breath hanging in white puffs in the unheated shed, he came to a halt a mere foot away.

"Severus? What are you doing here?" This Severus Snape, I realized, looked nothing like the self-possessed man I knew. He seemed uncertain, doubtful, even apprehensive—all adjectives that I would never have associated with him.

"I need to talk to you," he began hesitantly. "About last evening. I behaved poorly."

I was tempted to agree, but held my tongue. More profound words failed me, and "Oh," was all I could find to say.

"I'm rubbish at relationships," he said in a rush.

"I thought we were getting along rather well," I countered carefully, hugging myself in the chilly space.

"I meant to say, rubbish at romantic relationships."

As someone whose experience with romance had basically begun with a couple of chaste kisses with Viktor Krum and ended with the blow-up with Ron Weasley, I understood his concern. And for a man as proud as Snape, being out of his depth was not a place he cared to linger. My earlier resolve to give Severus up as a lost cause immediately fled. I loved him, and there was absolutely no use pretending otherwise. "I made you feel uncomfortable last night, Severus. I'm sorry it happened."

"You are?"

"Yes."

"Then… you're saying it was all a mistake?" Severus' expression abruptly changed to one of frank disappointment.

My eyes widened in panic. "Wait. What? No! I meant I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. What happened wasn't a mistake. I—I have feelings for you."

"You do?"

"Yes. It just— _happened,_ I didn't mean for it to. I've enjoyed all the time we've spent together so much these last months. I think you're a wonderful man and I want to spend more time with you and I'm sorry if I've ruined everything. If you don't want to see me again, I completely understand." Throwing down the gauntlet like this was a risky move; it wouldn't have surprised me to see him stalk out the door without a backwards glance.

Severus was looking slightly bewildered now. "But I do want to see you again. Damn it, Hermione, I'm really bollocks at this sort of thing…"

I gathered all my courage. "No, you're not. I'm just as bad. But maybe, if we each took a chance, maybe… maybe we could work things out?" I offered, then held my breath.

Severus opened his mouth to speak once, twice. "Perhaps you're right," he managed finally, the tiniest note of hope in his voice. "But…"

"But what?"

"Why would you want to involve yourself with me, knowing what you know about my past?"

"Because I love you," I said simply.

There was an agonizing pause, and then he reached out to touch my hair, whispering so softly that I could barely hear it, "And I love you, Hermione."

I stepped closer to him, slid my arms around his neck, and kissed him. And this time, he didn't push me away.

…..

It was a good ten minutes before it occurred to either of us that it was cold in the broom shed. I didn't care if I froze to death; at least I would die happy.

"I should be going," Severus murmured, his forehead pressed against mine. "Minerva's expecting me."

"Can you stop in and say hello to the Weasleys?"

He hesitated. "I think not. It would be rather difficult to explain my presence, and you deserve the right to break the news to your friends in your own way."

"Of course," I nodded.

"May I see you this evening, after I return from Hogwarts? I shouldn't be much later than nine."

"I would like that. That reminds me: you left your gifts behind last night when you left."

"When I turned tail and ran, you mean?" Severus asked drily.

I laughed at that. "It was self-defense on your part."

"Or bald-faced cowardice."

We gazed into each other's eyes, fully aware that the evening would doubtless hold more than simply stopping in to retrieve forgotten items.

"Hermione… I am not a skilled lover," he began, looking a bit worried again.

"I don't want a skilled lover," I whispered, smiling. "I want _you_."


	18. Chapter 18

**_Chapter 18_**

We slept in on Boxing Day.

We'd made love twice. The first time, we were both feeling our way, a bit tense, a bit nervous. The second time was at dawn, when Severus reached for me, and drowsiness allowed our passion to ignite without the burden of overthinking it. We both dozed off again immediately until I finally swam back to consciousness, happy and sated.

Severus wasn't there. I climbed out of bed, calling his name, but there was no response.

I was bewildered. Didn't dating etiquette suggest that leaving without so much as a goodbye on the Morning After was rather poor manners? Not that I had expected us both to awaken and gaze lovingly into each other's eyes, but still… I was debating how hurt I should be when I heard the pop of Apparition in the sitting room.

"Oh, you're awake," Severus said, standing there with a small sack and two drinks from Coffee Cartel in his hands.

He hadn't been inconsiderate after all. I could only beam happily at him.

"What?" he asked, puzzled by my expression.

"Nothing. I just wondered where you were off to, that's all. What did you bring me?"

"Flat white, your usual." Severus handed me the cup. "Also several scones."

"You're a prince," I said, grateful to find my breakfast instantly in front of me for a change. I giggled when Severus glared at me. "Oops. Sorry."

…..

On the second of January, I stopped by Grimmauld Place to talk to Harry and Ron. We gathered around the old wooden table in the kitchen while Kreacher went about brewing a new pot of tea.

"The reason I wanted to talk to you two is this: Severus Snape and I are seeing each other," I said, relieved to finally share the news with my friends.

Ron frowned. "For real, or is this another ploy of some kind?"

I sighed. "For real, Ron."

"Wow." He was struggling to look pleased for me, and only half managing it.

Harry, however, was regarding me with a sly grin on his face. "I wondered," he said. "You were positively lit up like a Christmas tree that day at the Burrow."

Well, only for the second half of that day, but I didn't want to quibble. "Look, I don't know where this relationship will lead. I'm not keeping it a secret, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't broadcast it through the grapevine at the Ministry."

"Of course," Harry assured me.

Ron continued to look at me as though debating whether I'd lost my marbles.

"Er… Is this some sort of a rebound thing?" he asked tentatively.

"Ronald Weasley! Of course it's not a rebound thing!" I snapped. "Do you really think I'd decide to shag Severus Snape just because I wanted a man and he was _handy_?"

"Quit while you're ahead, mate," Harry muttered to Ron out of the side of his mouth.

"Sorry," Ron said, "I just never thought that you and Snape…"

I prayed for patience. "Ron, do you trust me?"

It was a silly question and we both knew it. Ron sighed in defeat. "You know I do, Hermione. I always have. We wouldn't be here to talk about it if we didn't. So I guess if you say that Snape's okay, then Snape's okay. I'm happy for you."

I hopped out of my seat to hug both him and Harry. "Thank you. It means a lot to me that you're okay with this."

Harry looked genuinely pleased. Ron, still not so much.

It would take time.

…..

I didn't say anything to Clare, Dex, or Sondra about my relationship with Severus. They were probably fed up after hearing for months about Snape's fictional love life, and I didn't intend to stir the coals, even if phony had become fact. Besides, there were three months left on Rita Skeeter's ban from dragging our names through the mud. I wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet for a while.

I did send a letter to Arthur and Molly, explaining the recent events in my life. When Molly wrote back, I held my breath as I opened the letter to read it.

She didn't beat around the bush, Molly Weasley. Although she remained sorry that I would never become her daughter-in-law, she said, she was pleased for me; Severus Snape was an honorable man who had seen dark times, and she thought I could be just what he needed. In addition, she and Arthur would be thrilled to have Severus and me over for dinner anytime.

I told Severus that we had a standing dinner invitation at the Burrow. I waited for the inevitable eye-rolling, but he merely raised an eyebrow.

"I will never be free of Potters and Weasleys, will I?"

I shook my head and grinned. "Sorry, no."

"Fine," he said simply, and pulled me into his arms.

…..

Both Severus and I received letters from the Ministry, reminding us that the fifth anniversary of Voldemort's death was coming up, with various activities being planned. While most of the festivities were optional, we were cordially requested to be present at the dinner being held at Hogwarts (cordially required, more like, according to the tone of the letter) on the second of May. Neither Harry, Ron, nor myself were thrilled at the prospect; we'd been wined and dined and honored to death in the weeks following the final battle. Severus was one of the few who escaped the adulation, being as he was lying in a coma at St. Mungo's for several months.

I reread the letter a second time and discovered that not only was the May second event a dinner, it was a Feast requiring dress robes or other formal attire. Severus grumbled a bit about What Was the Point of Buying Dress Robes When One Wore Them About Once a Decade, but finally put the date on his calendar, as did I.

In late January, I spotted a notice on the community bulletin board in Coffee Cartel. The Cokeworth Restoration Society was offering trees for sale; one could purchase a tree in honor or memory of a loved one, or simply to do one's part in revitalizing the town. They would be planted along the riverbank come spring. I signed up immediately to buy two trees, and a few weeks later I received small plaques which I would be able to place in the ground beside the trees of my choice.

…..

The Dedication Ceremony took place on a bright Saturday morning in late March; both Severus and I attended. There must have been almost a hundred new trees springing up alongside the river, along with a profusion of tulips which the Society had planted the previous autumn. Severus followed me as I walked among them, debating which trees I should choose. Finally I settled on two neighboring willows. I knelt down to push the stake of each plaque into the dirt:

 _In loving memory, Thomas and Jean Granger._

 _In loving memory, Wendell and Monica Wilkins._

I was surprised when Severus produced a plaque of his own. "I didn't know you bought one," I said.

He merely smiled and placed his plaque by a tree next to mine: _In loving memory, Eileen Prince Snape._

When he straightened up, I linked my arm with his. "That was a very nice thing to do."

Severus shrugged. "It just seemed appropriate."

"You've become a caring, kind man, Severus. I'm afraid your fearful reputation is in tatters."

"Don't let my DADA students hear you say that. I still rely heavily on intimidation."

When the crowd had dispersed, we walked to the water's edge and I cast my parents' ashes in the river. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I watched them float away.

"I'm so sorry. I should have tried harder to make things right between us, and now it's too late," I whispered, the lump in my throat preventing me from speaking any louder.

Severus heard me, however, and put his arms around me. "I think they probably know that, even now," he murmured. "I think all they ever wanted was for you to be successful and happy and loved."

I sobbed and buried my face in his chest.

…..

I was becoming more and more aware that this interlude with Severus here in Cokeworth was winding down. He would return to Hogwarts in mid-August to prepare for the new term, and I would likely see him only at holidays or the occasional weekend. Considering that I was practically living with the man, it would be a rude awakening when that time rolled around.

I'd wondered if, possibly, Severus might ask me to move in with him. Given the amount of time we spent together, I was wasting money on rent. But I had no idea if he was at all eager to take things to that level of commitment, nor did I know what I would do if he asked. Did _I_ want to take things to that level?

I solved the problem of the curious present and uncertain future by simply resolving not to think about it. I would take one day at a time, something I'd been trying harder to do ever since my parents' deaths. I knew there were no guarantees in life. Still, I was practically programmed to look ahead and plot and plan, and taking each day without regard for the next felt an awful lot like sitting and doing nothing.

Meanwhile, my friends' lives were rapidly changing. Given that I had no idea what my own future held, it was rather depressing to watch everybody else happily setting plans into action.

Ron, who was head-over-heels in love with Janelle Murray, stunned everybody by popping the question after the pair had been going out only three months. They were arranging an August wedding, while Harry and Ginny would beat them to the altar in June. I went dress shopping with Ginny one day to choose my bridesmaid's gown. She had given me great flexibility in selecting my dress (read: anything that doesn't clash with all that ginger hair at the wedding); I opted for a blue gown whose color reminded me of my Christmas robes. As long as we were there in the Bridal and Evening Wear Department at the store, we took the opportunity to buy gowns for the Hogwarts Anniversary Feast. I asked Ginny for her opinion of the dress I chose.

"Do you like it on me?" I inquired, studying myself in the full-length mirror.

"Of course," Ginny said, adding with a sly grin, "and I think Severus will like it on you, too. _O_ _r_ off."

…..

One evening in mid-April, Minerva McGonagall stopped by Severus' home, looking aggravated.

"Whatever is the matter?" Severus asked her. "Did the Board of Governors decide that summer term should last until August thirty-first this year?"

"Don't be impertinent," she snapped, and settled into his wing chair.

"Tea, Professor?" I asked. She certainly hadn't come to see me, and the least I could do was to make the tea and stay out of the way.

"That would be delightful, dear."

"I'll be right back." I went into the kitchen to fill the teakettle while Severus took to the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"So what's the problem?" he asked Minerva. "Don't say that the Board has rejected your proposal for combining History of Magic and Muggle Studies."

"Oh, the Board thinks it's a fine idea, but there has been precious little time to finalize the curriculum. At this rate, I doubt we'll be able to start in September after all. Cuthbert has already left to visit his castles, so there's no chance of convincing him to stay."

"Does that mean you won't be able to offer History or Muggle Studies at all?"

"Oh, I suppose we can cobble something together, but I'd rather hoped things might be further along."

"What are you going to do?" Severus queried.

Professor McGonagall ignored him and called in to the kitchen to me instead. "Are there any biscuits in there as well, Hermione?"

Like I lived here and knew the contents of Snape's kitchen cupboards? I did, actually, but that wasn't the point. Severus came to my rescue. "Check the pantry," he called needlessly.

"So," Minerva said spritely, "how is the editing coming?"

"Quite well. At the rate we're going, I should be able to have it completed by the end of June and then have time for a nice holiday before school begins."

"Thanks to me, of course," I called as the teakettle began to chirp away.

"It's so fortunate that you've been able to help, Hermione," Professor McGonagall agreed. "A nice little holiday, you say, Severus?"

There was something about the tone of her question—a little too innocent, perhaps?—that I noticed immediately. It took Severus a moment to cotton on.

"Yes, I thought I'd—" He broke off. As I arranged the tea tray with cups, biscuits, milk and sugar, I peeked around the corner. Severus was glaring at the Headmistress with narrowed eyes. "What do you want, woman? You're up to something. Spit it out!"

"I don't suppose you would be willing to take a look at the curriculum design for me, would you?" she wheedled.

"That's practically a full-time job!" he protested.

I'd said the exact same words last August. It had done me no good, either.

"Nonsense." Minerva waved away his objection with one hand. "A week or two at most should shape things up nicely."

"A week or two?"

"After all, you'll have extra time at the end of June, you said. You can complete your editing then."

"The extra time is for a holiday!" Severus spluttered in outrage as I reappeared with the tea tray.

McGonagall beamed at the sight of me. "Excellent. Thank you, Hermione," she said as I poured. "Do stop protesting, Severus. It's not that bad."

"Who will be teaching the course?" I asked as I took my seat. Severus continued to look mutinous.

"I'm asking Rolanda Hooch to take it on, so perhaps the two of you should get together to have a go at the curriculum, Severus."

He snorted. "Rolanda? Rolanda can barely bring herself to spend a full school year at Hogwarts as it is. What makes you think she'll want to do it?"

I knew that Professor Hooch was always in and out during the school year. Besides the flying lessons for the First Years and refereeing Quidditch matches, she offered additional flying classes for those abysmally talented on a broomstick—such as me—as well as offering occasional, basic tutelage in other subjects. Fortunately for me, I had always made top grades without the need for a tutor. And since Harry and Ron had _me,_ they'd obviously never taken advantage of Hooch's help either.

"She's bored, it turns out," Minerva said. "Her latest flame ditched her on New Year's Eve for a younger woman, a Swedish blonde. So she has time on her hands, at least for now. She said she'd do it for a year, as long as it doesn't interfere with Quidditch."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Surely you can do better than Hooch."

"Surely I can, but I'm running out of time."

"Why not let Hermione teach it? I'm sure she'd be a thousand times better prepared."

Minerva glanced at me briefly, appraisingly. For one moment, my heart soared. Me? Teach at Hogwarts?

"I want Rolanda to take a shot at it," she said, shaking her head. My heart plunged abruptly. "She needs to do something other than plan Quidditch moves and polish her broomsticks. Besides, Hermione already has a job."

A job which I would have ditched in a red hot minute if I had a choice between teaching at Hogwarts with Severus and sitting in my little office in Cokeworth.

"Although…" Minerva continued, "there is something you might do for me, Hermione."

"Oh?" I asked breathlessly.

"You may remember that I wanted to give every incoming First Year an assignment to complete before entering on September first. A self-study packet about the history of Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I wonder if you might like to write a brief synopsis of Hogwarts' beginnings. I know how you always loved your copy of _Hogwarts, A History._ "

"Minerva, I'd love to!" It was a project right up my alley, if anything was.

"Excellent. Why don't you write something and hand it in by next Monday and send it to me by owl, say four feet of parchment at most? Then we can get together and set the self-testing questions. How does that sound?"

It sounded wonderful. I would be giving all the Firsties their very first lesson at Hogwarts.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Chapter 19_**

I decided that a long weekend was in order, and since the Anniversary Feast was on a Friday night, I took off the Thursday before and the Monday following. I'd been working hard, my trio of intrepid coworkers were quite capable without my presence, and I told myself that if I couldn't miss a few days' work to reap the benefits of our—well, Harry's—victory over Voldemort, then when could I? I slept in, enjoyed a slow, natural awakening that was far too rare in my life, and considered the day ahead. I needed to travel to London later to pick up my dress for tomorrow night's festivities, but first I wanted my morning dose of caffeine. I rolled over in bed and called across the landing to Severus' office.

"Severus?"

"I thought you'd never wake up," he said, sounding distinctly put out. "Coffee Cartel?"

"Can you give me ten minutes to grab a shower?"

"If you must," he grumbled. "Make it quick."

"Yes sir, Professor, sir," I said with a mock salute, which of course he couldn't see from the next room.

I hurled myself into the shower and gave myself the most basic scrub down. When I trotted down the stairs, fully clothed and my hair pinned up into a sloppy bun of sorts, I found Severus waiting for me in the sitting room. He wore an odd expression on his face, one which seemed to suggest that he was more than a bit preoccupied with something

"Don't tell me I took too long. I'm barely dry as it is," I said as I grabbed my jacket and slipped it on.

"No, of course not." He shook his head and bent down to kiss me good morning. We exchanged the usual morning pleasantries ( _How did you sleep? Fine, you? Fine.)_ and headed for Coffee Cartel.

"What are your plans for today?" Severus asked as we walked.

"London, briefly. I have to pick up my dress for tomorrow night. Tomorrow afternoon, hair before we go. You?"

"London as well, to pick up my dress robes."

"Want to do lunch at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Possibly," he agreed, and then lapsed into silence. It was beginning to look like a one-sided conversation kind of day, and I wondered what was occupying Severus' mind to make him so taciturn.

"You're awfully deep in thought," I observed. And waited.

"I've been thinking about when I return to Hogwarts," Severus said finally.

"Oh?" It was the last thing _I_ wanted to think about, and I braced myself. But once again, Severus seemed in no hurry to continue voicing his train of thought.

We were coming up to the coffee shop. Perhaps if I tried to inject a little humor in the situation?

"Whatever will you do without your Coffee Cartel fix when you're back at Hogwarts?" I teased. "I mean, the coffee the House-Elves make is decent, but it's not the same."

He grunted by way of response.

"I suppose I could bring you your lattés on weekends," I went on. "Maybe a stasis charm? I mean, they would stay hot enough while I Apparated there, but they'd probably cool off during that long trek from the Apparition point."

I was reaching to open the door of Coffee Cartel when Severus caught my arm and pulled me back. "Just be quiet for a moment, will you?"

I stared at him, perplexed. "Okay."

"I need to ask you…"

"Ask me what?" The uncertainty on his face brought to mind the interlude in the Weasleys' broom shed.

He took a deep breath and said, "Marry me, Hermione."

I could only gape at him. Had he just said what I thought he said? "What?"

"I asked you to marry me," Severus repeated, scowling as if to say _The question should be self-explanatory, what part of 'Marry me' do you not understand?_

I opened my mouth to speak once, twice, but no sounds emerged. Severus Snape had asked me to marry him. Severus Snape had asked me to marry him! I was nearly engulfed by elation and ready to cry _"Yes, yes, yes!"_ when he saw fit to elaborate on the idea.

"I don't want a long-distance romance. It's silly for you to be living in Cokeworth while I'm living at Hogwarts. There's nothing remotely appealing about that arrangement."

My balloon of joy abruptly popped.

"Wait," I spluttered in disbelief, "just so I'm clear on this, you want to marry me because it'll be more _convenient_ for you?"

"What? Of course not."

"That's what you just implied!"

"Well, it _would_ be more convenient," Severus argued.

"I don't care about convenience," I protested indignantly. "Why _else_ do you want to marry me? And it had better be a damned fine reason, Severus Snape!"

"Because I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, you daft woman!" he said, exasperated, as if his reasoning had been quite obvious all along.

I was tempted, _sorely_ tempted, to leave him dangling. Even pulling my wand on him wasn't out of the question. On the other hand, this was Severus Snape, and finding the man down on one knee with a ring in his hand and spouting flowery words of devotion was not likely. I tried to speak calmly. "Please say you mean it," I pleaded. "That you're not just saying it because you think it's what I want to hear."

"Of course I mean it. I would not have asked you if I didn't." There was no note of impatience in his voice this time, only firm conviction.

My eyes misted over before I could help myself. "Then, yes. I love you, too, Severus, now and always. Yes, I'll marry you."

And Professor Severus Snape, who once swore that he would brook no form of public affection other than holding hands, swept me into his arms and kissed me, right there in front of Coffee Cartel.

…..

Breakfast at Coffee Cartel went something like this: When? Where? Who?

Never in my wildest dreams had I expected to be planning my wedding this morning. It was a dizzyingly glorious turn of events that left me nearly breathless.

Severus took a sip of his latté. "I suppose you'll want a large wedding?" he asked, his tone implying that while he would tolerate such an event if need be, it was certainly not his preference.

"Actually, no. Something small and quiet. Just a handful of people."

"That would be my choice as well."

"Good. Well, that settles that part of it." Which really settled nothing much, but it was a start. "When?"

"Before September first, obviously."

"Obviously. But there are so many other weddings coming up." I idly tapped the cup containing my flat white while I thought about the summer ahead.

"What do you mean? I thought it was only Potter's, next month," Severus pointed out.

"Well, Ron has proposed to Janelle. They've set a date in August."

"I suppose I'm invited?"

"Count on it."

Severus sighed. "July, then?"

I opened my mouth to agree when something else occurred to me. "Oh. Gavin Stringfellow's getting married in July. Clare hand-delivered the invitation to me yesterday." My former landlord had been working long hours, trying to finish up Number Three, Spinner's End, Clare had told me. He'd even put in a bedroom closet at long last, and Brenda was hanging curtains.

"So it's impossible to get married in a month where someone else is getting married?"

"No, don't be silly. It's just—I don't know. Sort of overwhelming."

My fiancé sighed, looking at me as though accepting his proposal had scrambled my brain. "If nothing else," he said, "I think that in the meantime you should give up your flat. There's no point in continuing to pay rent when you're barely there. And I'll talk to Minerva about obtaining larger quarters for us at Hogwarts."

"Of course."

We discussed other things: Apparating to my job each day versus taking the Floo, joining Severus for meals in the Great Hall versus dining in our rooms, whether I would retain my surname.

"I'm using both," I said with a touch of asperity. "I'm a Granger, and I'm not losing that part of me just because I'm married to you. I'm going to be Hermione Granger-Snape." I would go to war over this issue if need be.

Severus regarded me in amusement. "Fine. I wasn't asking you to choose any particular option, Hermione. I only wanted to know your feelings on the subject. Now… back to the question of when."

Oh. That. While Severus went back for our second round of caffeine, I pondered the matter. Just as I'd always assumed I would marry Ron, I'd also assumed it would include a large ceremony at the Burrow, as had been the case with Bill, Percy, and George. What _did_ one do when one married Severus Snape? Hold the wedding at Hogwarts, perhaps, in the Great Hall?

We could invite Harry and Ginny, of course, along with Ron and Janelle, and Molly and Arthur, probably George and Angelina. I was closest to them, but if we didn't ask Percy and Penelope and Bill and Fleur, there might be hard feelings. And I hadn't even touched the matter of Clare and Sondra and Dex, nor had I considered that Severus would probably want to invite the Hogwarts teaching staff. The guest list was growing.

That's when it occurred to me: we could be married at the nearest wizarding Registry Office, which in our case was located in Manchester. Just Harry and Ginny, Ron and Janelle, Molly and Arthur. Severus might ask only Minerva and one or two others. That was a much more doable solution, even if half the Weasleys were excluded. They would just have to get over it.

"What about," I said when Severus returned with our coffees, "the Ministry Registry in Manchester? Unless you want to be married at Hogwarts."

He placed my new flat white in front of me and sat down. "Hogwarts? Not in this life or the next. The Registry will be fine."

Which took care of Where. "I don't know how many people you would like to invite; I came up with half a dozen or so." I sipped my coffee and waited for his answer. When Severus said nothing immediately, I looked up to find him staring at me intently. "What?"

"What if," he said slowly, "we asked no one? What if it was just the two of us, and whatever witnesses the Registry could provide?"

No one else? I started to protest, but suddenly the idea gained merit in my eyes. Severus did not want a spectacle, nor did I. Rita Skeeter's writing ban had been lifted only days before, and thankfully she had not seen fit to speculate about us so far. Instead, she was focusing on Harry and Ginny's upcoming nuptials, writing columns with ridiculous headlines such as ' _Ginevra Weasley Says Harry Potter Beat Her_ ". The truth of that little nugget of misleading tommyrot was that Harry had narrowly bested Ginny in a pick-up Quidditch game, but of course that would garner no rabid reader attention whatsoever. Severus and I could marry quietly and announce it once the deed was done.

"I think I would like that," I said. "Now, back to the big question: when?"

"What about May?" he probed carefully.

I blinked. " _This_ is May."

"Exactly," Severus said, smirking. "Do you see any point in a long engagement?"

Did I? The answer was blindingly apparent. "No."

And then the bomb hit.

"You _do_ have a long weekend this weekend, don't you?" he asked, eyeing me over his coffee cup.

"You mean get married _today_?" I bleated gracelessly.

Severus shrugged, still with that infuriating smirk on his face. "Not necessarily. What about tomorrow, before the Feast? Then we would have Saturday, Sunday and Monday for a honeymoon of sorts."

I wanted to cry, _"I'm Hermione Granger! I do not plunge headfirst into_ anything _without a carefully thought-out plan!",_ but the words failed to form in my mouth, probably because it was hanging open at that point. "But…what about rings?" I blurted.

"I know we need to go to London today to pick up our clothing, but I'd rather not look for rings in Diagon Alley where we would become immediate media fodder. A Muggle jeweler, perhaps?"

…..

The rest of the day was a blur. I went from dazed and stunned to wildly excited and thrilled by lunchtime. We were eloping, of all things, and it felt completely right and perfect in every possible way.

While I packed up my belongings at the flat and talked to the landlord about breaking my lease, Severus made arrangements at the Ministry Registry Office in Manchester. They would marry us at two the following afternoon, provided the wedding before ours didn't run overlong. Timing was crucial: I had a hair appointment for three-thirty, then had to dress and Apparate to Hogwarts by six for the Feast.

We went to London separately. I picked up my dress, tried it on to make sure it fit, and met Severus at the Muggle jewelry store I'd found not far from Diagon Alley. My initial thought was to opt for a plain band, but Severus encouraged me to find something a bit nicer.

"I'm not penniless, Hermione," he pointed out, "and I don't intend to marry more than once. Find a ring you will treasure."

I looked at the rings laden with diamonds, but they were quite expensive and certainly not my style. Finally I chose a wide, filigreed silver band, inset with a single diamond flanked by sapphires, my birthstone.

"It's perfect," I said, contented.

Severus surprised me then by choosing a ring for himself. I had half-suspected that he was the type of man who would refuse to wear a wedding ring, and was pleased when he selected a silver and black band that caught his eye.

The jeweler was perplexed, of course, when we told him we wanted to take the rings with us. What were we thinking? The rings would have to be sent out to be sized to our fingers, and they wouldn't be available for another week. Why would we want rings that didn't fit? A simple Confundus Charm took care of things, and we left the shop with rings in hand.

That done, we returned to Cokeworth to catch our breaths, which lasted all of half an hour. Then Severus placed an Expansion Charm on his closet and chest of drawers, and I packed up my flat and moved in.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Chapter 20_**

The following morning, I awoke with the words _I'm getting married today_ ringing in my head. Were we really doing this unbelievable thing? Severus, blast his hide, appeared remarkably unperturbed and composed while I was by turns excited, thrilled, even a bit scared. There were hours to go before we left for Manchester; what did one do in the meantime, when then was to be no last minute fussing over flowers and dresses and logistics? I settled for rearranging my belongings twice; I'd basically thrown things in closets and drawers after last night's hasty move-in.

"I don't want you to think that I'm taking over," I told Severus. "Tell me if I'm intruding on your living space."

"I set the space aside for _you_ , Hermione. Besides, it's our living space now," Severus pointed out, but was compelled to add, "as long as you don't leave your lacy underthings drying on the shower curtain rod.."

"I've lived with two slobs for years. I'd like to think I'm sensitive to that sort of thing."

The look on Severus' face told me what he thought about my years of putting up with my slovenly friends.

We ate lunch at the nearby Muggle pub before heading to Manchester. When we arrived at the Ministry Registry Office, I reached into my beaded bag and withdrew both my robes and Severus' robes. While I was all in favor of our impromptu wedding, I drew the line at wearing denim.

Severus shook out his robes and examined them with a critical eye before donning them. "Wrinkled," he muttered.

Before he could make a move, I'd whipped out my wand and cast a Refreshening Charm over both his robe and mine.

The corners of his mouth quirked into a smile. "You really are a remarkably clever witch, aren't you?"

"Frankly, yes," I said, grinning as I slipped into my blue Christmas robes.

We filled out our marriage applications—the clerk's eyes widening when he realized who we were—and awaited our turn.

"You're certain, Hermione?" Severus asked me softly as we sat in the hall outside the Magistrate's chambers.

"Absolutely certain."

…..

I wish I could say that I remembered the details of our wedding ceremony.

The Magistrate had greeted us, and if he had anything to say about marrying two war heroes, he kept it to himself. He discussed the rights of spouses in the wizarding world along with simple concepts of consideration for the other person and sharing responsibility for making a marriage work. Then he led us in a series of brief vows, drawing a circle over our joined hands with his wand each time we responded. I know it was to do with loving, cherishing, and honoring, but by the time we'd finished with our "I do's" and "I will's", I found myself trembling. Severus and I exchanged rings, the Magistrate tapping each ring to size them until they fit just right, and pronounced us husband and wife.

Severus looked about as shaken as I felt when we kissed, but his grip on my hands was strong. We left the Ministry Registry together, both of us murmuring some inanity along the lines of "Well, we did it!" We hugged each other—briefly—and then I raced off to my hairdresser appointment while he went to sort out reservations for our weekend honeymoon. I'm probably the only bride in the world who's ever gone to see her hairdresser _after_ the wedding, but there was no way around it. By the time Severus and I finally reconnected at the house on Spinners' End, it was time to change into our formal clothing for the evening festivities.

When I came down the stairs, the sight of him in his dress robes took my breath away. I had never seen Severus wearing anything so grand before, and while he looked quite handsome in his Muggle clothing, he looked every inch the powerful, handsome wizard in his finery.

He was staring at me as well. My understated, upswept, hairstyle was nothing like the cascade of curls I'd sported for the Yule Ball, nor was my dress a mass of girlish ruffles. Instead, I'd chosen a slim, wine-colored, off the shoulder gown which whispered, rather than shouted, elegance. After apparently searching for the right words for a few seconds, Severus said quietly, "You will be the most beautiful woman at Hogwarts tonight."

I smiled warmly, gratified that my choice of apparel had the intended effect on my new husband. Severus came up to me and placed a hand on my cheek.

"I don't suppose," he began, "that we have any time before leaving…"

"None."

He scowled. "I want to take my wife to bed."

"Patience," I teased.

…..

The entry hall of Hogwarts was alive with witches and wizards, all dressed to the nines to celebrate the five year anniversary of Voldemort's demise. Above us, students lined up at the staircase railings, trying to get a glimpse of the assemblage. "There's Professor Snape!" I heard one squeal, and a small knot of girls jostled for position. I could tell from the way Severus' mouth thinned that he was itching to deduct house points from the lot of them.

"Ignore them," I said airily. "You're no longer an eligible bachelor, remember?"

"You tell them that," he retorted. "And then perhaps you should watch your back for the remainder of the evening."

"Hermione!"

I glanced around to see who was calling my name and found Neville Longbottom shouldering his way through the crowd, Luna Lovegood in tow. Unfortunately, I also spotted Rita Skeeter in the distance, prowling about with her Quik-Quotes Quill. _The old cow! Of course she'd show up tonight._ I resolved to avoid the woman as long as I could. "Neville! Luna! How are you both?" I threw my arms around Neville's neck in an impromptu hug.

"Couldn't be better," Neville enthused before sobering a bit when he saw my companion. "Professor Snape," he greeted Severus tentatively.

"Longbottom," Severus said, and while he wasn't overtly friendly, he wasn't receiving Neville with the malice I'd witnessed for so long. Then I remembered that Neville was apprenticing under Pomona Sprout. Of course Severus saw him around the school on a regular basis.

"How's your sabbatical going?" Neville inquired politely.

"Quite well," Severus said. "I expect to be finished with my project by the middle of July at the latest."

"How about your apprenticeship, Neville? When will you be done?" I tried to recall just when he'd begun the two-year program.

"December," he said. "I'll be looking for a job come the first of the year. And guess what?"

"What?"

Neville put an arm around Luna's waist and pulled her close. "We're engaged!" he blurted, blushing furiously.

Luna, as usual, looked completely unruffled. She held out her left hand to display a tiny diamond. "We haven't set a date yet," she said. "Of course, it won't be until after Neville gets a job."

"Of course." I glanced sideways at Severus and saw that he was perilously close to rolling his eyes at the thought of another wedding. I reached out to take Luna's hand with my left and get a closer look. "It's lovely, Luna. I'm so happy for you two!"

"Thanks," Neville said, still beaming like an idiot.

"I like your ring too, Hermione," Luna said. "Have you had it long?"

I answered truthfully. "No. I just got it this afternoon."

"Oh. Well, it's beautiful. You might want to wear it on your right hand, though. It looks like a wedding ring when you wear it on your left hand."

"That's because it _is_ a wedding ring," I said, a silly smile spreading across my face.

"What?" Neville's jaw dropped in astonishment. "You're married? You and Ron?"

"No, Longbottom. Me," Severus said with a withering glare.

Neville, thinking it was a joke, started to laugh. His face, when he realized that Severus was quite serious, became a canvas of mingled shock and horror. He quickly masked it with a contrived smile of sorts. "Wow, that's—that's—"

"Fabulous," I supplied, putting a quick end to Neville's search for a polite adjective.

"I'll be sure to tell Daddy about it," Luna said. "I'm sure he wants to send his best wishes."

That made me think. "Luna… How would your father like to announce our marriage in the _Quibbler_ tomorrow?"

"Oh, he'd be thrilled!" She looked utterly pleased that someone was volunteering a news story for the offbeat newspaper.

I gave Luna the basic details, asked her and Neville not to breathe a word of it while Rita Skeeter was in the vicinity tonight, and then the two of them moved off to greet someone else.

A dozen or so students, Seventh Years by the look of it, were circulating with hors d'oeuvres and drinks, and one now appeared in front of us with a tray. "Champagne, Miss Granger? Professor Snape?"

"Thank you." We each took a glass, and when the girl had gone to serve someone else, I lifted mine in the air. "A toast, Severus? To us?"

"Absolutely," he said, tapping my glass with his. "To the end of Tom Riddle's life and the beginning of ours."

I was touched. It was a lovely sentiment which I truly hadn't expected of my husband. I doubted that such a thing would happen on a regular basis, but I was happy to take what I could get.

Harry and Ginny arrived, and I waved to them briefly over the ever-growing crowd. Ron appeared with Janelle. She rushed up to me, her fiancé trailing in her wake.

"Guess what!" she said, her eyes shining. "We're all sitting at the head table! I never thought I'd ever be sitting up there!"

"Joy," muttered my husband, who'd been sitting at the head table for half his life.

"Hey, Hermione. You look great tonight." Ron gave me a friendly hug, and then he cautiously held out his hand to Severus as though he was approaching one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts. "Professor."

"Weasley." Severus was equally guarded as the two shook hands. "I believe, given the circumstances, that you may drop the honorific."

Ron looked briefly appalled, but the moment passed and he managed a grin. "Sure. Yeah. Snape."

He emphasized the 'Snape' a bit more than expected, and immediately I thought back to all the times over the years that I'd been the one to chastise Ron about being disrespectful by calling Professor Snape by his surname only. I could only laugh.

"Hermione! Don't you look fabulous!" Harry came from behind and gave me a quick peck on the cheek before turning to Severus. "How are you, Snape?"

"Quite well, thank you, Potter."

"Where's Ginny?" I asked.

"Lost in the crowd, I expect. She was looking for Arthur and Molly."

"Ah! There you are!" Minerva McGonagall, resplendent in crimson robes, hurried over. "We'll be going into the Great Hall in a few minutes, but in the meantime, I wanted to warn you that some of the students are a bit overexcited about the weekend festivities." As if on cue, there was a muffled shriek from above as two more girls peered over the railing of the main staircase, motioning toward Severus and giggling excitedly. Minerva spun on the spot and pointed a stern finger in their direction. "Miss Kirkwood! Miss Webster! Did you not understand me when I said that house points would be deducted this evening?"

The girls fled, but not before casting one last adoring glance at my husband. I doubted that the weekend festivities had anything to do with their overexcitement. Professor McGonagall continued, shaking her head in despair. "At least the Seventh Years we chose to serve the guests are more mature than that lot."

"You look nice this evening, Professor," Janelle told McGonagall.

"Why, thank you, Miss Murray." The woman stood a little taller, looking quite pleased at the compliment. "One doesn't get the opportunity to dress up and party very often."

I wondered, as I was sure Harry and Ron wondered, when was the last time Minerva McGonagall had dressed up and partied? It had to have been the Yule Ball, an occasion none of us remembered with any great fondness. The good professor likely had a much better time than the rest of us.

Minerva eyed us all in our evening wear. "You all certainly look quite dashing as well. Particularly you, Severus. I don't believe I've ever seen you looking so handsome."

Severus actually had the good grace to blush. "Thank you, Minerva."

Harry and Ron clearly wanted no part of that conversation, and Janelle looked too leery to say anything.

"I couldn't help but notice that the press is represented here tonight," I said. "I saw Rita Skeeter, digging for dirt as usual."

Minerva snorted. "She'll be leaving as soon as we convene in the Great Hall. I refused to have her circling like a vulture all evening. If she can't get a quote or two before then, she's out of luck."

"Thank you," Harry said with obvious gratitude. I breathed easier.

"You're welcome," Minerva acknowledged. "Now, what about you lot? Will you be present for the charity Quidditch match tomorrow and the memorial service on Sunday?"

"Definitely," Harry assured her, and Ron and Janelle nodded their agreement.

"I'm afraid not. Plans for the weekend," Severus put in, not looking the least sorry to miss out on the rest of the anniversary events.

"Oh?"

I decided it was time to take the plunge. I tucked my left hand through Severus' arm, my ring fully visible and glittering in the light. "Severus and I have an announcement to make."

Minerva stared from my face to my hand and back again, her eyes widening. "Is that an engagement ring?" she asked shrilly.

"No, Minerva," Severus said calmly. "It's a wedding ring."

"A _wedding_ ring? What? Oh!" She shrieked, her hands flew to her mouth in amazement. "You? You two?"

Severus and I nodded. While McGonagall flung her arms around each of us in turn, blubbering about how wonderful it was that we had found each other and that she had known we were a good match all along and when had we gotten married and why wasn't she invited, Harry and Ron looked as though they'd been struck in the head by particularly heavy objects.

Harry found his voice first. "I don't believe it!" he exclaimed, hugging me and pumping Severus' hand once more. "When?"

"This afternoon," Severus explained.

"We eloped," I added. "The Registry Office in Manchester."

"Eloped? Oh my goodness, what a marvelous idea!" Minerva cried. "But shouldn't you be on a honeymoon somewhere?"

"That's why we won't be at the other events," I told her. "We're going to Paris for the weekend."

"Paris! Oh, how romantic!"

Ron moved in to hug me and brave another handshake with Severus. "I'm happy for you, Hermione. Really. And for you, too, Snape. She's—uhm….er…"

"I know she is," Severus said placidly, enduring all the warm wishes with what was, for him, remarkable patience.

I looked from Harry and Ron to Janelle and Professor McGonagall. "Could I ask you all, as a personal favor, _not_ to spread the word until Rita Skeeter's gone tonight?"

They all nodded their assurances. Shortly after, a chime sounded and the assemblage moved into the Great Hall. Most everyone found their places at the round tables which replaced the usual long house tables. Severus and I found our places at the Head Table, along with Ron and Janelle, Harry and Ginny, Minerva and Filius Flitwick, her Deputy Head. Kingsley Shacklebolt joined us.

There were toasts to the honored war dead, Kingsley spoke of sacrifice, courage, and hope for the future, and the House-Elves served up a spectacular meal. All in all, it was a pleasant evening.

And quite a pleasant night, as well, when Severus and I returned home.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Chapter 21_**

When we arrived at the International Floo Port the next morning, Severus and I were greeted with more than a couple knowing looks and smiles as we headed for the check-in desk. The reason became obvious when we passed the first newsstand.

The _Quibbler's_ headline read, WAR HEROES WED IN MANCHESTER.

The _Daily Prophet's_ headline read merely, GRANGER, SNAPE SPOTTED TOGETHER AT VICTORY FEAST.

I laughed in delight and pointed it out to Severus. "We got her," I said triumphantly. "Xeno Lovegood scooped Rita Skeeter. I bet she's gnashing her teeth right now."

"Serves her right," my husband agreed, but then he frowned. "Better check the _Quibbler_ and make sure Lovegood didn't mention anything about our travels today. I don't want to find a passel of journalists waiting for us on the other side of the Channel."

"I'm sure I didn't mention to Luna that we were going to Paris," I said, but picked up a copy of the paper and glanced through the article anyway.

"And?"

"We're safe," I reported, relieved.

"Excellent."

…..

My parents had taken me to France following my second year at Hogwarts. I remembered enjoying myself—who wouldn't after spending months in the hospital wing, either Petrified or recovering from the Polyjuice fiasco—but it was a rather whirlwind tour of Paris and Provençe and other locations. Now I was eager to experience the country as an adult and share it with Severus.

We lodged at L'Auberge de la Belle Sorciére _,_ a lovely little inn in the Parisian wizarding district of La Rue Caché. The featherbeds were wonderfully soft, the nighttime _bonbons_ on the pillows delightfully chocolatey, and the noise of raucous traffic on the Muggle side of the building barely noticeable thanks to an apparently heavy-duty Muffliato. A flower box outside our window was filled with fragrant spring blooms that I was sure had a soporific effect; I couldn't recall the last time I'd slept so deeply and so peacefully.

By day, Severus and I tried to avoid the usual crowded tourist destinations. Using our _Guide to Paris for the Discriminating Traveling Wizard_ , we visited the Musée d'Histoire Magique and learned that Dark Wizards with nefarious plans were not limited to Britain (no surprise there). For breakfast, we ate croissants and sipped café au lait at a small café across from Notre Dame, making sure to buy some luscious macarons for a later treat. One evening we dined at Gourmand in Le Marais Alternatif, the wizarding side of a very trendy Muggle entertainment district, experiencing first-hand the excellent French cuisine. At dusk, we strolled along the Seine hand in hand as other lovers did; Severus surprised me when he stopped halfway across the bridge, took me in his arms, and kissed me passionately. On our final afternoon, we visited an outdoor book flea market on the Quai des Grands Augustins and discovered that a wizarding version existed just behind the myriad of stalls. I was in absolute bliss; between Severus and myself, we spent hours there, just browsing.

"I don't think," I told him when we made our way back to the Port du Conduit Internationale to return home, "that we could have had a nicer honeymoon if we had planned for months in advance."

"Nor do I," Severus agreed. "I know you prefer planning and plotting, Hermione, but for a spur-of-the-moment trip, I believe everything was quite satisfactory, don't you agree?"

"Definitely." I grinned impishly. "Especially the featherbed at the inn."

…..

Britain's owls had been busy. By the time we returned from our lovely sojourn in Paris, there was an impressive number of letters piled up inside the front door on Spinners' End.

"What do you think?" I asked Severus, prodding the mound of post with my toe. "Congratulations or 'you've broken my heart, how could you'?"

"Fifty-fifty," he muttered, making his way past me to carry our bags upstairs.

"I'm afraid to look," I joked, but look I did, settling down o _n_ the floor and beginning to open envelopes. By the time Severus returned, I'd already found ten cards congratulating us on our marriage and three letters from girls swearing that I could never satisfy my husband the way they could. "Congratulations cards are winning," I told him.

"Excellent." Severus spotted an envelope bearing the Hogwarts crest and plucked it from the pile. "What can Minerva want now?"

I opened a card from Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, of all people. I glanced at the probably insincere expression of felicity, and handed the card to Severus. "It's from the Malfoys," I said.

He laid it aside in favor of reading Minerva's letter. "She wants to see us at our earliest opportunity," he said.

"Us? Why? I have to work tomorrow. I'm sure she only wants to see me about the parchment I gave her regarding the history of Hogwarts for the First Years."

"She says 'us', Hermione. Perhaps we could set up a lunchtime meeting?"

"That might work. There's no telling how much paperwork I'll find stacked up on my desk."

…..

I walked into work the next morning to Sondra's squeals.

"Oh, Hermione, I'm so _thrilled_ for you!" she cried, rising from her desk to hug me. "And I'm so jealous, I could just die!"

I'd barely thanked her and asked her to please not die just yet when Clare came barreling around the corner.

"You sly thing!" Clare exclaimed, enfolding me in another hug. "Eloping! I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the headlines in the _Quibbler_!"

Of course, many people couldn't believe their eyes when they read headlines in the _Quibbler_ , but Saturday's announcement of my marriage was one of the least crazy ones.

"We didn't want a fuss," I explained. "And seriously, can you imagine Severus at a large, formal wedding?"

"Not at all," Clare agreed. "That was very smart of you. After all that's gone on with that teen magazine and Rita Skeeter hounding the poor man this past year, I'm sure there was no better choice."

"What's new around here?" I asked, heading for my office. I stopped short when the Clinic door opened and a short gray-haired woman wearing Mediwizard robes poked her head out into the hall. I'd expected to find Dex, not this stranger. "Hello," I said curiously.

"Hello!" She thrust her hand towards me. "I'm Artemis Adelbert. You must be Mrs. Snape."

"Granger-Snape," I corrected, trying to recall if Dex had requested the week off; I was sure he hadn't. "Is Dex not in today?"

Clare came up behind me. "Dex is gone. Artemis is his replacement."

"What?" That was surprising. Dex didn't seem like the type to quit without giving notice. "What happened?"

"We don't know," Clare shrugged. "All I know is that Artemis showed up the middle of the morning yesterday and said that Dex was no longer working here. I imagine the Ministry sent a message to you yesterday, Hermione. It's probably on your desk somewhere."

"Of course. Well, I'd better get to it. Welcome aboard, Artemis." Artemis nodded and disappeared back into the Clinic, and I started for my office once more. "Oh, Clare, I'll be away at lunch. I have a meeting."

A twinkle appeared in Clare's eyes, and then the woman had the nerve to wink at me. "Of course you do."

I blushed furiously as I realized that she thought I was going home for a quick romp with Severus. "Stop it! It's a real meeting. At Hogwarts. With Professor McGonagall."

"Whatever you say, dear." Clare flashed me a knowing smile before heading into her own office.

 _Great,_ I thought. _This is what happens when you're a newlywed._ I sighed and opened the door to my office, dumping my bag in a chair and eyeing my desk to determine how hard I would be working today. After a cursory scan of the parchments piled up there, I decided that things could have been worse.

I found the memo from the Ministry Office of Personnel right off. Dexter Davies, it said, had tendered his immediate resignation, and a replacement was being sought. A second memo announced that Artemis Adelbert would be assuming the role of Mediwizard assigned to the Cokeworth Region. There were no details, nothing to explain why Dex had left, but in the long run, I didn't particularly care. I'd never been that fond of the man anyway, and at least the office talk would no longer revolve around Quidditch.

…..

I Flooed directly to the Headmistress' office at noon, but not before enduring another wink from Clare when I announced that I was leaving. Severus was already there, surveying a tray of luncheon foods that had been set out for the three of us.

"Welcome, Hermione," Minerva said as I dusted the ashes from my clothing. "Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome."

"How was your first morning back?" Severus inquired solicitously, placing a ham sandwich on a plate. "The place still standing, I take it?"

"Just grand. Dex is gone all of a sudden, so we have a new Mediwizard. And I can't disabuse Clare of the notion that I've gone off for a lunchtime rendezvous with you."

Minerva, already taking a seat at her desk with a loaded plate, sniggered.

"Although," Severus suggested with a straight face, "we may still have time when the meeting's over."

I glared at him. "Don't start!"

"Your loss," he said idly.

Minerva progressed from snigger to outright cackle. "Behave, boyo. Why don't you fix yourself a plate, Hermione, and then we can chat?"

I did just that. Minerva inquired about our weekend in Paris, and we chatted for several minutes about the pleasures of that city. She informed us that she was already looking into larger accommodations at the school for Severus and myself. Severus asked about the Fifth Anniversary weekend activities we had missed.

"It was exhausting," she said. "I wasn't involved in the Quidditch match, and I had very little to do with the memorial service, but still, they were hosted by Hogwarts, so I had to be about."

"Was Rita Skeeter still hanging around with her poison pen?" I asked, curious.

"All weekend, plus she was definitely in a bit of a snit about missing out on the opportunity to announce your wedding."

"Good," Severus muttered, and I grinned broadly.

Finally, the food on our plates disappeared and Minerva sat back with a sigh. "On to business, I suppose. I do have a one o'clock meeting, so let's get to it.

"Hermione, I'm sorry I didn't get back to you sooner about the Hogwarts history that you sent along. It was wonderful, of course, very thorough. I made only a very few suggestions throughout. Perhaps we can set up a time to get together next week to discuss the format and the questions to accompany it?"

"Of course," I said, but I still didn't understand why I'd had to interrupt my day for her to tell me that.

Minerva appeared to practice a bit of Legilimency when she added, "I know I could have put that information in an owl post, but that's not the only reason I asked you here today. We have a problem."

"Oh?" Severus and I exchanged glances.

"It's you two and your infernal elopement. Rolanda Hooch has gone off and done the same thing! Said she got the idea from you."

"The old bat ran off and got married again?" Severus smirked. "How many times does this make? Five? Six?"

"Five. I believe," Minerva sighed. She picked up a parchment from the top pile on her desk and peered through her glasses to read part of it aloud. " _Sorry to bail on you, Minerva, but it can't be helped._ _Dex and I decided we didn't want to wait any longer, so you'll—"_

"Dex?" I yelped. "Dex Davies?"

Minerva blinked. "What? I don't —well, wait. Apparently so, because she signed it, 'Rolanda Hooch-Davies'. Who, may I ask, is Dex Davies?"

"He's my mediwizard!" I cried. "Madame Hooch ran off with my mediwizard!"

"Did you know they were seeing each other?" Minerva asked me, nonplussed.

I shook my head. "No! He never discussed his private life. The only thing he ever talked about was Quidditch—" I broke off; there was no need to say more, of course. Dex and Hooch, both Quidditch fanatics. Wait until I told Clare and Sondra…

Beside me, Severus snorted with laughter.

McGonagall glared at him. "It's not funny!"

"Sorry, Minerva. I take it this means I'll be doing the curriculum review you wanted by myself then? How soon will she be back, or does the whole thing fall on my shoulders now?"

Minerva shook her head in frustration. "That's the _point_ , Severus. Rolanda didn't just write me a note to say she's run off to get married. This is her _resignation_. Now we have no flying teacher, and more importantly, no teacher for History of Magic and Muggle Studies!"

Her words fell into a sudden, chilly pool of silence. "What are you going to do then?" Severus asked finally.

Professor McGonagall disregarded him, crossing her hands in front of her as if to steel herself. "Hermione," she began, looking directly at me, "I know you have a job you enjoy. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't ask it on such short order, but—well, I was rather hoping that you might consider taking the position."

I stared at her, scarcely believing that the Headmistress of Hogwarts had just offered me a job. "Me? Teach? But… there must be loads of people more qualified than me."

"You have a N.E.W.T. in History of Magic and you were raised as a Muggle. And, you're going to be living at Hogwarts, anyway. I fail to see how anyone could be more qualified."

"I—I—" I looked to Severus, an appeal for help.

"It's your decision, Hermione," he said quietly.

"I know, but I—I need to think about it, obviously. We should probably discuss it…"

"Of course," Severus said.

"And so you should," Minerva agreed. "Could I ask you, Severus, to begin looking over the proposed curriculum as soon as possible then, and include Hermione in the process? That might help her make up her mind one way of another."

I knew Severus was anxious to get back to work on the Klingbeek text, but he nodded agreement anyway. "That shouldn't be a problem."

"Hermione, may I ask for your decision in two weeks' time?"

"Yes," I said weakly.

Minerva flashed me an encouraging smile. "I'm truly not trying to railroad you into anything. If you decide you don't wish to take the job, that's fine. We'll come up with another solution. Just remember: you would most certainly be a better teacher than Professor Binns."

She had a point.

 _A/N: Only an epilogue to go, friends._


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: I can't submit this final chapter without voicing my undying gratitude to Toodleoo, who helped me whip and beat this story into shape. I couldn't have done it without her, and she deserves hugs, applause, flying confetti, trumpet fanfares, and all manner of felicitations._

 _I also can't thank you readers enough for following me along this path I set for Severus and Hermione. I'm glad you enjoyed the ride, and I particularly appreciate all the lovely reviews._

 ** _Epilogue_**

The Great Hall was filled with the sounds of students laughing, talking, joking, all more exuberantly than usual. Christmas break had begun, and when breakfast ended, most would be heading for the station to catch the Hogwarts Express.

"It's not quite the same this year," Severus said from his seat next to me at the Head Table. "Right about now I would be counting down the minutes until the thundering horde flees the premises. But since we're leaving as well…"

"I know," I enthused. "I can't wait to get home. We can put up a tree, have a fire in the fireplace, I can do some baking…."

" _You_ can do some baking?" my husband echoed dubiously.

"I can manage some holiday biscuits and pies," I said, highly affronted. "I'm not totally helpless in the kitchen."

"Right," Severus muttered into his coffee cup.

Much as I hated to admit it, his skeptical comment wasn't far from the mark. During the three months we'd lived together on Spinners' End before relocating to Hogwarts, I could count on one hand the number of meals I'd produced that were what one might call inspired. As a result, Severus did most of the cooking when we didn't dine out.

Why not make the shepherd's pie again, he asked me after a particularly heinous attempt at lamb stew was binned after a few bites? I told him the story of my checkered past with shepherd's pie, and when he stopped laughing, suggested that I might want to take a chance and give it another go.

"How's your flat white?" Severus inquired now.

I eyed the contents of my cup. "Better than the last one."

Back in May when I told the Headmistress that I would be honored to become the first professor of the combined course of study of History of Magic and Muggle Studies, I had only one request: could she possibly encourage the House-Elves to branch out into newer versions of coffee? I swore to Minerva that if need be, I was prepared to introduce a lesson for my students on What Muggles Drink, and claim that sampling lattés and the like were an educational requirement. Minerva had readily agreed, and ever since then, the quality of Hogwarts' coffee had risen to greater heights. It still wasn't Coffee Cartel, but it was an improvement.

Once I had decided to accept the job offer, I left my Ministry post immediately. I missed Clare, and even Sondra on some days, but I needed every possible hour to prepare lesson plans. In a rather satisfying change of roles, Severus became the one helping me with _my_ project, trying to get it whipped into shape before September first arrived. "It's what I like to call payback," I told him smugly when he complained that he'd spent all day on the Klingbeek text and was faced with an evening of acting as my assistant.

We moved into our new quarters at Hogwarts in mid-August. It was so strange to be back at the school in a different role, but I thought I was adjusting rather well—until suddenly the Hogwarts Express arrived and the Sorting took place and I found myself staring out at hundreds of curious young eyes. I didn't sleep a wink that night, and the next morning I wanted a whole lot more than a good cup of coffee; a stiff drink would have been much more helpful.

Severus knew I was terrified, and when breakfast was over he'd shunted me through a side door behind the dais and kissed me and told me he loved me, and suggested I avoid using Unforgiveable Curses on the first day of classes. When the first students filed into my classroom that morning—Ravenclaw and Slytherin Firsties, no less—and seemed to think I might actually have something worthwhile to say, I honestly wanted to run down to Hagrid's hut and beg for a treacle tart and a cup of tea.

But then, somehow, I'd managed a shaky smile and told my pupils that we were going to learn how magical peoples and Muggles had co-existed over the years, and how it affected their lives now and in the future. I'd set them all a brief assignment—to write their favorite pastimes, their likes, their dislikes, a brief bit about their families—and then compared them in class. The simple point I made, of course, was that they all had much in common, regardless of the degree of magic in their background.

A month later, a Gryffindor Fifth Year raised his hand to ask me how to bridge the gap when it seemed like he and his Muggle parents didn't understand each other any longer. It broke my heart, and I'd wished more than anything that I had a simple answer for him. I opened it up to class discussion, then sat back and watched the students wrestle with the issues of communication. And after class, I'd gone into my office and cried.

And now the first term was over; I had survived, and so had they.

"Tomorrow morning," Severus was saying now, "we'll go to Coffee Cartel and you can get your flat white fix."

"And check out that new bakery that opened down the block," I added. "And I want to see how our trees are faring along the Greenway. I wonder if they've expanded it farther."

"I doubt it," he shrugged. "It's winter. I don't think you should expect much progress this time of year."

A bell rang, and the mass of students who hadn't already left the Great Hall to collect their belongings now surged for the door. To a person, my colleagues at the Head Table sagged in relief.

"Hermione." Professor McGonagall fluttered her hand at me from the Headmistress's chair.

I rose at once and hurried over. "Yes, Minerva?"

"Would you and Severus be willing to see the students onto the train?"

"Of course." I returned to my seat to tell Severus about the new assignment. He greeted it with barely concealed disgust.

"Wonderful. I was hoping to start compiling marks next to the nice, warm, fireplace in my office."

I nudged his shoulder playfully. "Oh, cheer up. I might even start a snowball fight with you on our way back."

Severus glared at me. "A snowball fight. With me. Do you honestly think you would win?"

"No. But after it's over, we could return to our quarters, and take off our wet clothing, and warm up."

He smiled at me, an evil glint in his eye.

 ** _END_**

 _A Few Notes:_

 _Believe it or not, I don't drink coffee. I never learned to drink it, although it always smells delicious. I did have my first Pumpkin Spice Latte this fall, so I can check 'Learn to Drink Coffee' off my bucket list. I don't know that a PSL counts as actual coffee, but I will admit that it was rather tasty._

 _Nor am I a wine person. I had to ask for advice on what wine Severus and Hermione might drink. Again, I never developed a taste for it._

 _I do have some experience in the gentrification process. When my husband and I first married, we rehabbed an old house in an up and coming neighborhood. It was definitely an experience. Sadly, the neighborhood never reached the heights we'd hoped, and we escaped to the suburbs like so many do. This was shortly after two of the un-gentrified neighbors decided to have a demolition derby in front of our house. Still, my hat is off to the visionaries who tackle city life and old houses._

 _I truly believe that Severus was ripe for gentrification after surviving the war. He had to find his way in the world after serving two masters for so long. I suppose he could have chosen the path of least resistance, sinking deeper into darkness, but I like to think he decided to opt for something better._

 _And I've said this to several reviewers: I think JKR was cruel in her treatment of the Grangers. I know Hermione was vital to pushing the story along, but couldn't she have spent a bit more time with her parents? Did she always have to be around to support Harry and Ron? And in DH, if the Order was allowed to hide the Dursleys, of all people, couldn't they have done the same for the Grangers?_


End file.
